


Fire and Ice

by PatchworkHalcyon



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim Romance Mod - Fandom
Genre: Action, Adventure, Companions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Nevermind so much angst sorry, Romance, Skyrim - Freeform, Usually Lighthearted, lots of angst I'm so sorry, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 60
Words: 272,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkHalcyon/pseuds/PatchworkHalcyon
Summary: The confused adventures of a coin-driven ranger and a dragonborn possessed by a daedra. (Yes, really.) This fic is mainly pun filled, light-hearted, and doesn't take itself too seriously. 4th wall breaking, video game puns, and meta jokes about fanfiction are included. ~No knowledge of the mod is needed to understand this story.~ Also, I barely own my car, let alone Skyrim and SRM so there's that. ****Thanks for 3000 views, guys! You rock!!****





	1. Little Boy Needs his Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to DovaBunny for making me want to finish this and post it here! 
> 
> If you like the work, leave a comment. It's always easier to write when I know people enjoy it!

Well, Ancient’s Ascent is really kicking my ass, isn’t it? Perhaps not as much as Miraak, or Lord Harkon, but I’m struggling. The past few days have been brutal; Hircine has obviously begun to loathe me because my arrows refuse to hit their mark. I missed a goat this morning. A goat! My ebony bow, missing a  _ goat. _

Only a bad tradeswoman blames her tools, I understand that. Artemis-yes I name my weapons-isn’t to blame, I am. But currently, as I’m being knocked around by this dragon like a child’s doll, it’s the only thing to keep me from just laying down and counting to ten. I can’t ask the damn dragon for a rain check, can I? It’s just going to keep barfing frost at me until I keel over. Which isn’t going to be soon because my dragonscale shield is pretty frost resistant.

Why am I here again? The cold is bitter, and the dragon is becoming uninterested in our stalemate. It roars longingly above my head, sparking the memories I’ve held since my first days of Skyrim. A chopping block, a dragon attack; of whispering walls and prophecies.The continuous cycle of being one with dragon’s blood.  

Immediately I’m here because I need more dragon scales to make my gauntlets. Long term, I’m here to kill dragons and help people. Or something like that. 

I should get to it, shouldn’t I? All the hypothetical and self-reflective questions are beginning to scare me. And regardless of my introspective break, that dragon needs to fall. This dragon, although it may look different from the rest, can still be eaten by me. And yes, I say that in the best taste I can. 

I grip my bow again, nocking an arrow with serene grace. I know this. The rhythm of a warrior, the quietness your soul experiences before shooting. The world slows, making my aim true. The arrow pierces the Ancient Dragon’s flesh with an ear splitting groan as it lands before me, shaking the arrow out of its hide and rearing its snake-like head to me. Scars split its face into neat sections, implying I’m not the first to question its authority. And if I don’t be careful of its lance-like incisors, I won’t be the last.

Its jaws snip at me, scuffing my armor pauldron. The blades and I worked hard to make this armor! I can’t let this oversized salamander just ruin my things. I sling my bow over my back, instead replacing my palms with a ball of purplish mist. A flame atronach snakes out from Oblivion where I summoned it, appearing before me with a crackle and slight bow. We both turn towards the dragon, locking eyes and forming a strategy between us. It may not be human, but I relax with a partner. The mentality of not fighting alone against this thing does wonders on both my fighting skills and my self-confidence, though I know it can’t last. Housecarls, friends who have offered, sellswords...none can accompany me. I refuse to let them become easy kebabs for the dragons, or to join the ranks of the dead in the countless ruins across Skyrim. I have yet to come across someone who can prove themselves to even handle a few bandits, let alone draugr deathlords and dragons. 

With that mentality, my policy is to work alone. Every time I’ve tried to have someone accompany me, it’s turned into a disaster that will forever scar my thoughts. I’m tired of that. 

I need to focus. The dragon swings its head towards me, as if challenging its tiny sister to attack. I’m happy to oblige. I conjure a sword, ducking under the swing of its tail and lacerating its right wing, grunting as I force as much power into the blade as I can. Now it can’t fly away. With a roar, the dragon slings the atronach into the stone pillar behind us, dissolving it with a sizzle. Just me, and I don’t have time to summon another. It opens its mouth to bellow frost at me again, when a spark ignites in my brain. 

“Yol...Toor!” comes a voice from a body larger than mine. Flames burn the dragon’s face, closing its eyes and making it rear back in pain. I use the space of time to swing myself up onto its neck, plunging my sword into the dragon’s skull. It rolls over on its side, breathing a single breath before growling in submittance. The skin flakes off and burns, and with it its knowledge.

It’s quite an awkward thing, just standing around watching a dragon’s life. Lots of stuff I don’t understand, like foreign lands and nesting grounds. Some of it I do, like the language battles they like to carry out for fun, or the pleasure of soaring over the lands below at breakneck speed. 

Once I was sure I had seen everything, I walk up to the word wall the dragon was guarding. Animal Allegiance? Well that’s a bit shit, isn’t it? I kick open the chest at the foot of the wall, adding the gold and gems to my coin pouch and stuffing the armor into my pack. I’ll sell it off in Riverwood. Less people know me there than in Falkreath-I’d like to avoid trouble if possible. And hell if I’m going to stay anywhere upwind of Helgen while there’s more dragons around. 

….

It’s a much longer walk than I’d like, but it’s worth it to find some peace and a decent cup of ale. Walking into the city walls and listening to the mill turn in the river is pleasant, and the scent of the pine forests puts me at ease. If I ever had the chance to settle down, it’d be somewhere around here, someplace I could be away from my duties as dragonborn and from everyone. The forge makes my nose crinkle as I pass, the blackish smoke rising from the pit making me think back to my younger days as a silversmith's apprentice. That seemed so long ago, but in reality it had only been a few years. I was still young, despite feeling middle aged and weary. How old was I again? 

I walk to the edge of the river, peering into the water with curiosity. My soft blue eyes, dark lashes, and blonde hair still stare back as always. Weary and battle torn, my face still somehow carries the lightness of my youth despite the large sabre-cat inflicted scar on my cheek. My hair is still straight and golden even after being strung in a braid all this time, and my pointed nose hasn’t been broken enough times to become crooked.  I am still in my early twenties. What day is it? Or, more importantly, what  _ month?  _ I see Gerdur, the mill owner, chopping wood near me. Best to be the fool for a moment than a fool for eternity, I guess.

“Hey, Gerdur.” I call out softly, watching with interest as he fumbles with the axe. He swings around, axeless, and pulls a grin when he sees my face.

“Rowan? Is that you?” He asks, pulling his hair back. I’d helped him with chores around the mill when he was having financial issues.

“I’d hope so; though I’ve been gone for so long I could have been swapped.” I laugh lightly, tugging at my hair. I know I’m a mess. “I haven’t seen a proper four-walled house in months. What’s the date?”

“Tirdas of Last seed. The...fifteenth? Fifteenth.” He grins. “You been around town yet?”

“Naw, just got here.” I reply, unused to the sound of my own voice. “I’ll make my rounds yet.”

“Yeah. We got a weird guy snoopin’ about though. Real sour look, too. Mayhap you can drive him off, he’s scaring’ the kids.” He paused. “But don’t push yourself, you look like you’re going to fall apart at the seams any second.”

 

“I’m tougher than that.” I grin, flashing teeth before making my way to the trader. I open the door, nearly jumping out of my skin with the bell jingling. Anytime I do something and it’s immediately followed by a chime, I nearly digress into a cavewoman. Traps will forever be a fear of mine.

“Sup...Lucan.” Nearly forgot his name. I pull out the scrap collected over the weeks gone. Some orcish gauntlets, glass swords, random books, and a couple gems. Oh, and a few useless scrolls for spells I can just cast myself.

“Cleaning me out again?” He sighs, counting out coin. I gaze to the golden claw sitting on his desk, remembering the pain I had to go through to get that damn oversized cat toy. That was at the start of my journey; I was so naive. I barely got out of there, despite the presence of only four or so bandits being my opponents. 

“I’m sure I’ll just pay it back, honestly.” I pick out some fresh food, a new waterskin canteen, healing potions, arrows, and a couple lockpicks to refresh what I have. 

“Eh, I still owe you a bit.” He shoves some gold across the desk to me.

“Thanks.” I sigh, swiping it into my coin purse. I exit the shop without another word, figuring my next move. Delphine was no longer at the Sleeping Giant, but I could still stay the night for a bath. The light is already retreating from the sky, washing the lush forest in a honied light. I missed this place. A few months in nothing but permafrost territory or volcanic marsh and you go a bit crazy just to see a bit of green. 

I stand in the middle of the road, looking out over the path from Riverwood. The light streamed onto the cobble road, glinting off in beautiful colors I hadn’t realized before. The chirping of cicadas and the wafting of a pine made this scene absolutely perfect. 

“Buddy…” Embry croaked. Even without being close I could tell he reeked of wine.

“I’m not funding your drinking problem.” I reply without even looking, moving on to the inn. 

“Leave Rowan alone, Embry.” Sven walked by, pausing in front of me. “Hello again, friend. Glad to see you in one piece.”

“I am too.” I chuckle, nodding to the lute. “I see you’re still at it.”

“Course.” He grins. “After all, I still have to win Camilla over.”

“Right.” I look to the inn, dreaming of the hot bath within. “I’ll be going then. I’m sure I’m a mess after this long. And I definitely need a drink.”

“Oi Lass, I’ll buy you a drink.” One of the men standing by the fence chimes in. I roll my eyes, groaning internally.

“No, ‘ow bout I lip wrestle with her?” The other says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I groan even harder.

“I’m good, thanks.” I sigh, shouldering my bag and heading onto the inn’s porch. As I go to open the door, my pack swings and bumps into the arm of someone. At the contact, I freeze and look to them, about to apologize.

Golden eyes and dark rugged looks glare at me from beside the door, stunning me into silence. I look at his attire. Handmade leather armor, a knife sharpened so sharp it could probably slice a butterfly wing. Best yet was his bow, so large and sturdy I nearly mistook it as a staff. “Ah, sorry.” Was the best I could manage.

He grunted in reply, I suppose dismissing me. As soon as I went to open the door, I heard a small mutter under his breath.

 

_ “Wench.”  _

 

Alright, if he wants a fight, I’ll fight him. Grappling had always been a favorite of mine, drunk or not. My leg swings itself towards where it would hurt him most, my steel horned dragon scale boots sure to make certain he never had any kids. 

He raises his knee in retaliation, catching my swing as best as he could unprepared. He grunted under the force of the blow, shoving my leg away and forcing me to face him again. I shove my hands in my pockets, staring at him with the icy fury I’ve been told my eyes carry. No fire, no restlessness. Pure, unwavering, and most of all, petrifyingly cold. Despite my expected outcome, he stares right back, even going as far as to crack a grin. Well, now I really hate him.

“Fiesty.” Was all he said, his rough voice forming the word in a way I couldn’t explain. If I didn’t know better, the way he said it almost made it sound like a compliment.

“Whatever. Say anything more and I’ll really have to hurt you.” I confirm, opening the door into the warm tavern space. Orgnar sat behind the bar, serving as a crude check-in desk. I walk up, slapping ten gold on the table, plus a separate stack with a weary grin. “And a few pints of mead, if you please.”

“You know the room.” He said, nodding. “Glad to see you back, Lass. I’ll bring the mead over in a thrice.” He clears the gold away, letting me go pick a spot on one of the benches. I choose the farthest away from everybody, where I can use the wall as a backrest as I look out into the crowd. It’s been awhile since I’ve really seen anybody, it feels so odd. Going from complete isolation to a crowded tavern is really a weird experience. The boisterous longhouse and my own cold complexity clash, and I’m definitely losing. The cheery atmosphere of merry laughter gets to me as I finally break out a giggle to one of Sven’s made up songs, or Faendal coming in a dancing merrily despite not being a bit drunk.

Orgnar, as promised, sets three tankards of mead in front of me. I thank him with a quick nod, downing the first one nearly immediately. To my displeasure, before I could pick up my second, a familiar figure sat down next to me and picked it up, adding extra sass by lifting his pinky finger.

“Little girl can down her mead, can’t she?” The dark-haired man laughed. “That was some kick you tried to give me.”

“By the nines I’m not going to hire you.” My eyes flicker to his own. They still held that unchanging gaze, like an animal whose gaze is only fixed on a target. They nearly gave  _ me  _ the shivers, and I’ve given daedra the creeps. 

“Never said you could hire me, Princess.” The man said. “You can’t just expect everyone to lick your boots.”

“Normally the people looking to do that come over here and try and break the ice with a drink.” My gaze fell to the drink in his hand. “You, however, did the exact opposite, but I figured you’d want training or something.”

“No.” He replied simply. “But hey, if you  _ did  _ want to hire me, I might be persuaded to follow you on your adventures if you do a favor for me.”

“A...favor?” If I have to retrieve five ice wraith teeth or some book halfway across the continent I’m going to scream. I’m happy to help those who genuinely need it, but sending a stranger to do a chore you’re too lazy to do drives me crazy.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. Not that kind of favor.” He growled. I sighed with relief, then realized he thought I meant a sexual favor. Oh well. 

“Then what?” I look to him. “Either way I’m not leaving until I’ve had a bath and slept in a bed proper-like.”

“My wolf, Karnwyr. He’s been captured by some people and I’ve tracked him to a cave a ways from here. If you help me get him back, I’ll consider tagging along.” His words hung in the air. On the one hand, reuniting someone with their puppy is a good change from fighting the undead and selling my soul to multiple daedra, but I’d rather he not travel with me. Eh, fine. I can always send him away or ditch him somewhere. Not to mention I have to admit...I’m a tad curious about him. Someone able to block a kick from me is interesting enough to sacrifice a drink for.

“Fine.” I agree, nodding. “We leave first thing tomorrow.” 

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Rowan.” I reply simply. “No last name, I’m not that proper. You?”

“Bishop.” He paused. “And ditto for the proper thing.”

…

“That’s a cave.” I sigh, looking into the gloomy tunnel of nothingness. Wolf cages line the entrance, flanked by two guards. If this is a wolf fighting ring, there’ll be more on the inside.

“Good job pointing out the obvious.” Bishop snorts. “Go put those amazing powers of observation to work and go behind that boulder about twenty paces to our right. Wait for my signal. I’ll walk up, and-”

“How about...we don’t?” I ask, looking to him. “Look, I got this. Just stay here.” I pop out from my hiding spot, focusing my entire conscience on the two bandits. 

“TIID, KLO!” I shout, watching the world slow. I fire two arrows off, amused at how I can watch them flex from being shot from my bow. The time creeps out, hastening back to normal. The arrows quicken their flight and sink into the necks of the two, each uttering a gurgle and a gasp before collapsing. I look over to Bishop, grinning as he narrows his gaze quizzically on my face. The smile fades when I realize he nearly looks angry. What’s with that?

“Sorry, did I not let you show off or something?” I laugh, pausing as he stays silent. “No, I can’t do that constantly so don’t ask.” I put my bow over my back, standing up.

In an instant he was on top of me, shoving me forcefully under him as he surveyed my face. 

“Well at least buy me dinner first.” I choke out, surprised. Now, if only I could free my knee, perhaps I can kick him in the groin or shove my boot up his ass…or...

“Shut up.  _ You’re _ the almighty dragonborn?” He snarls, seemingly disappointed.

“...Sorry?” I shrug as best as I can from underneath him, trying to ignore his hot breath tickling my collar bone and inner neck. I shiver at the sensation; I haven’t felt air this tense in ages. His hands still pin my wrists to my sides, and we simply lingered there for a few seconds, staring at each other. He studied every inch of my face, supposedly scrutinizing every detail he deemed odd for a dragonborn. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. The intensity of his stare and the static between us was driving me insane. “Are you going to let me up, or am I going to have to shout you off to prove it again?”

“Not necessary, Ladyship.” He rolls off me, getting to his feet and drawing his dagger. “Though I hope you don’t expect me to believe you’re the dragonborn. Probably picked up dragon tongue like that Ulfric guy.”

“Whatever you want to believe.” I scoff. “Anyway, baby needs his wolf.”

“Yes, and little girl needs to shut her mouth more.” He growls, eerily mixing into the sounds of the nearby pit wolves. Well, that’s a bit odd. And creepy. Who the hell am I with right now, and why is he so...lupine?

“Yeah I’m not going to do that.” I scoff, keeping my cool. He freaks me out a bit. Together, we creep into the entrance of the cave, both locking eyes onto the doorman. Before I could even raise my bow he had fired off a shot of his own, smirking as I blinked with the arrow in hand. The doorman fell with a silent thump, soiling the straw strewn about the space. It would do nicely to soak up the blood.

We creep past the man, but not before Bishop and I have a silent squabble over who gets the gold. I win in the end by threatening to rattle the man’s iron armor and cause a clamor. Bishop groans, letting me swipe the gold with more glaring. 

The cage is on the inner part of the path, supposedly to keep the beast separate from the others. If the wolf is anything like its owner, I expect it to be just as unruly. 

“Karnwyr, there you are. What are you doing, making me come find you?” The sound of the boisterous laughter and canine aggression come from within, earning an unsavory countenance from Bishop. “How about we go rip those bastard’s faces off?”

“Alright, just putting in my two-cents, that’s pretty much impossible for both of you.” I point out.

“Figure of speech, ladyship.”

“Not really.”

“Shut up.” I actually listen that time as our exchange has echoed down the damn pathway. We hear hushed voices and the clinking of weapons, followed by footsteps up wooden ramps. So much for stealth. Karnwyr pounces forward with the grace of an animal half his size, letting the sound of teeth meeting soft flesh reverberate. Bishop follows suite, vaulting over a barrel before joining the fray with his dagger. If he intends to get himself killed while giving out small papercuts, so be it. As for me, I’m best with my bow, so I’ll hang back here on this piling and fire over my companion’s heads.

Arrow meets skull, dagger meets neck. As soon as the group heard us, everyone took up arms to meet our merry little band. Even the damn barkeep brought out a dagger of his own. Not to mention the wolves decided they’d like to rip us to bits too. I’m going to have to be careful; Bishop could easily be overwhelmed. I can pick them off as they come up the ramp…

I squint in the dim light, trying my best to not be nauseated by the smell of damp earth, blood, and cheap mead. I take down two before they can reach the ramp, but my third arrow sinks uselessly into the hired mercenary’s armor. Karnwyr starts to jump to try and snap at the man’s neck, but the hilt of a blade meets his side and he’s stunned into submission onto the floor.

Slowly, they’re pushing forward into us, forcing us to back up ground. There’s seven men all itching to fight with the three of us, and none too keen to die. The ones still alive are armored, and are aware of my presence. One in the group with a battleaxe decides to come for my head, splitting off from the brawling group and charging at my piling. He raises his arm to swing, allowing me a fraction of a second more than I needed to duck out of the way. His axe sinks into the soft wood, splintering the beam as he frees the axe. I summon two swords into my hands, praying my conjuration to hold. Honestly my heart is pumping so bad, the spells may fade on their own. 

He turns to me, flashing his tusks. Of course it’s an orc. Why would it be anything but the race known for smashing heads for fun? I’m just an average sized Breton. Who, mind you, is still very tired after Bishop woke me up early to come here.

I decide it’s my turn to charge him. With no shield, I can only use my speed to my advantage over this fight. I dash a few steps towards him, watching the movement of his elbow to tell where he’s going to block. I plant my foot onto the platform, using the forward force to swing both blades horizontally, bypassing his block and earning a stagger from the bull of a man. Except I miscalculated a bit. It’s quite moist in here, and moss had been growing like crazy up on the walls and in the cave. The scaffolding was no exception. I lost my footing and came crashing to the platform, hitting my head so intensely I slipped into tunnel vision. The orc stands there, dumbstruck. He takes one look at me and laughs so loud Bishop and the other gamblers stop and look towards us. I feel his eyes pierce into me at my predicament, wondering what the little dragonborn can do.

The orc swings down the axe just like an executioner. If I could never have another flashback of Helgen, that’d be utterly fantastic. Unfortunately, that isn’t going to happen. However, no one laughs at me and gets away with it. Especially not in front of someone who’ll tease me about it.

“Now wait just a moment, fucker.” I spit, thrusting my abdomen up and catching the axe on my boot. I feel the blade bite into the leather soles of my boots, but it’s a small price to pay. I kick the axe away with ease, using the force to propel me onto my knees. I slash my sword at his ankles, catching him across the shins. He steps back in surprise, letting me get to my feet. It’s my fight at this point; my rage may be short lived, but once I’m angry I’m not satisfied until I get revenge. It’s actually a useful thing to be angry about petty things; it actually saves my life quite often. Once, a man cut off a length of my braid, and I decapitated him nearly twenty seconds later.

As for reality, my sword is already in his stomach. I shove his body off the side, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thunk. On to Bishop. I decide my swords are useless now; if I can shoot my bow, I’d much prefer that. I grab my swords by the blade, picking a target. That skeever looking nord will do nicely. I step forward, using my arm as a catapult to throw the sword forward. They hit him in the hip, followed by the other straight in the sternum. I release the spell and the swords fade into nothingness.

Back up on my pillar, my bow and I take to observing the situation again. Bishop’s been doing quite well so far, methinks. He and Karnwyr haven’t had any close calls yet. Which is surprising, considering his choice in weapon.

In my usual fashion, irony really wants to bite me in the ass. Above the crowd, a warhammer raises high above Bishop’s head. I freeze unexpectedly; this is my worst nightmare. I can’t lose someone else, not again, not after the others. My bowstring cries with how fast I pull it back in panic, slowing time down until I aim at the attacker’s jugular. I release the arrow along with my own breath, waiting for it to sink into the neck of the elf. The axeman staggers, losing his life and slumping to the floor with a clatter. Bishop realizes what has happened and swings his head to me, eyes alight with something I can’t describe; admiration? I somehow doubt that’s what it was. With a slight nod he turns back and joins the fray again, finishing off the few that stood remaining. With every successful blow more and more decide their life is worth more than this wolf pit, and flee towards the surface. They may run; let it be a lesson learnt to them.

My eyes are locked on something different. Bishop, his muscles rippling as he fought, looked like a God to me in these brief moments. He certainly fought like one. His breadknife of a dagger was a blur as he expertly used it, attacking arteries and nerves alike. I shivered in fear; it had been so long since I had actually reveled and cowered at someone at the same time. This is terrifying. I had thought that I was in good shape, that despite how I had felt in the months prior that I finally had my grip on being a dragonborn and had risen to meet the challenge.

Yet here was Bishop, with no dragon blood aiding him, doing something I couldn’t. I didn’t have that sort of skill with weapons, and I certainly couldn’t take hits like him. That fact terrified me. 

With the last one down and Karnwyr rending him to bits, Bishop finally stopped and assessed what had happened. Six bodies litter the ground, both on the platform and the ramp. I crinkle my nose, all too familiar with the iron smell. 

“Where’s the last one?” He looks to me, eyes still filled with killing intent. Does he really plan to go after the guy?

“Ran out. I shot him through the midriff, he’s probably going to bleed out. No use chasing.” I reply, twirling an arrow between my fingers. 

“Well I feel like chasing him. And so I’m going to chase him.” Bishop glared at me. “Those bastards will die by my hand. Pit fighting like this…” He looked down into the ring below, to the carcasses of two wolves. “They deserve to die.”

“Fine, fine.” I say, stepping off from my pillar. “Just do it quickly.”

“The only thing I don’t do quickly, ladyship, is bedding a woman.” He grins.

“I’m going to ignore that.” I pause, listening. “Laas!”

“What in hells?” Bishop looks to where I was facing, looking around for whatever damage I caused.

“The guy is hiding up near the entrance, behind the boulder to the left. I guess he’s trying to stop the bleeding.

“You know, those shouts of yours take the fun out of everything.” He grunted, heading up to the front.

“Yes, because your satisfaction is my priority.” I roll my eyes. 

“I’m going to not say the obvious sexual comment, but please know I thought it.” Bishop brought out his bow, crouching once he got to the entrance. Sure enough, I could hear the sound of muffled cries of anguish coming from our left. Poor guy must be scared out of his wits. 

_ “I’ll make your satisfaction my priority.”  _ I hear him chuckle after he believed I was out of earshot. 

Bishop slithered around the bend, popping up on the guy just to be an ass. The gambler yelps in surprise, beginning to plead with Bishop.  _ As if that’s going to help.  _ I snort, hearing Bishop’s dagger sink home. So much for that.

“So, shall we loot the cave?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I snort, heading back inside. He and I immediately take to the barkeep’s station, me pulling out the moon sugar under the shelves with great interest. 

“Don’t eat that stuff! Messes you up.” Bishop warns, kicking open the chest and taking out the sack of gold within. As for me, I take the few scant healing potions and a strange white bottle. I take off the bottle and sniff the contents, truly curious. Nirnroot and...vampire dust? Invisibility? That’s great, I’m sure it’ll be useful. I replace the cork again, stuffing it into one of the holsters along my bag. I meet Bishop in the back room, which housed some shelves and another large chest. I sweep up every potion ingredient I can find. If I had a house, I’d definitely be labeled a hoarder. 

I step back to the chest, peering at the contents from a safe distance. A few pairs of enchanted boots, some fancy sword, gold, a few gems, and a necklace. I swipe the gold and necklace before Bishop can realize, earning myself a glare with hooded eyes.

“Hey, you can keep the gems and the sword!” I protest.

“I’m just going to sell it.” He grunts, hoisting it out and tucking it between his pack and his back. It was a simple orcish sword, glittering with a fire enchantment. I think a professional may have actually done it.

“It may actually be a good sword. Maybe you should give it a try.” 

“I prefer my dagger, it’s faster.” He replies flatly.

“Where'd you get it? It looks sharp as hell.” 

“Took it from a bandit’s corpse when a group of them attacked my village. Killed the last one with it when he figured me a lad who couldn’t make a quick decision. And believe me, darling, this dear cuts deeper than my words.” He brought it out, flipping it into the air like a toy. I nearly winced as he caught it, half expecting a finger to come off somewhere.

“How...sentimental.” I figure. “I’ll enchant it for you if you want.”

“No.” He denied outright. Whatever, his loss. He paused for a moment. “Well, princess, I must say….I’m impressed. I’ve never seen someone throw their swords like throwing knives, even if they were just summoned.” He chuckled, amused at how I frowned. “If you’re this interesting with your fighting style, I wonder what other trouble you could get me into.”

“Woah woah woah, I never said you can travel with me!” I protest. “I just wanted to help you get your wolf, nothing more. I didn’t expect anything in return.” I look down. Karnwyr pressed his weight into my thigh, leaning on me. At my attention his head snaps up, his big tongue lolling out of his mouth. That’s actually pretty adorable, in a really unfitting way. Like a husky’s smile, but much more primordial.

“What reason would you have to turn me away?” He raises an eyebrow, stepping forward to me. “Some sort of Dragonborn code?”

“No...I just work alone.” I say flatly. After saying it so harshly, I suppose I should fill him in. “I’ve never met anyone who can fight both draugr and dragons in the same day and be alright.” I add. “It takes a lot of practice to be dragonborn.”

“And you don’t think I can do it.” He rolls his weight to his hip, looking at me very unamused.

“Well damn if you want me to come outright and say it, yes.” I take a step back. “I don’t think you could handle it, and I don’t want to babysit you.” Aha! Insult him, make him go away with his ego injured. Then he won’t come back! 

Karnwyr repeatedly pokes my leg, forcing me to crouch down and scratch him behind the ears. 

“I think he likes you.” Bishop says finally. 

“Nah, I think it’s the food.” I say, bringing out a strip of the jerky I had purchased at the trader. I toss it to him lightly, listening to the distinct snap his jaws made. “Guy’s probably hungry, being here for a few days.”

“True.” Bishop stretched, giving me another glance over. “Well then, ladyship, if we’re splitting ways, I need to get going. I have a sword to sell and a wolf to feed.”

“Good luck with that.” I linger, trying to remember what I’d forgotten. “Oh right! Here. It’s on me.” I take one of the potions off my belt, tossing the phial to him.

“What is…?”

“Potion of regeneration. Health potions, in my opinion, hurt a lot because they’re so sudden. I much prefer these after a battle. You get fully healed in a half hour or so, and don’t even notice it.” With a final nod, I turn to walk out of the cave. “Well, ranger, may our paths cross again.” I wave without turning around, deciding to head to Riften. I guess I’ll stop at Shor’s stone for the night. 


	2. Spiders and Something more Sinister

Shor’s Stone sucks, why did I come here? There’s no where to stay. There’s only three buildings, plus a mine I can’t even enter for some reason. 

I walk up to the blacksmith, checking over everything he has for sale. I purchase nearly all the leather he has, earning myself a grunt and a glance over.

“You new here?” The blacksmith grunts. “Name’s Filnjar. I’m the blacksmith.” The guy looked old, tired, yet still somehow strong and wise. He had the usual complexion of a male nord, with long shaggy grey hair that surrounded his face. He’s seen better days.

“I’m Rowan. Self-proclaimed adventurer.” 

“You gon’ try and repair that old armor, lass?” He motions to the remnants of my dragon scale. It’s been more than worn over the months, to say the least. The pauldron is lopsided, there’s an obvious hole on my side, and don’t even get me started on the holes in the pants. My boots are alright, but they now sport a deep gash in the leather.

“Yeah...was going to at least try.” I look down at myself. “It was a really rare set of armor...once.” 

“I can tell, but that ain’t gonna protect ya anymore than cotton cloth.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Think it’s salvageable?”

“Nah.” He affirms. I sigh even harder. “That...is that chaurus chitin? Along the pauldron and the front?”

“No, it’s dragonscale.” At my words he snaps silent, blinking. “No really. I have a few more rolls of it…” I dig through my pack, pulling out the bundles I had gotten from the dragon at Ancient’s Ascent, setting them on his workbench.

“By the nine…” He breathed, turning them over in his hand.

“Oh yeah, and why is the mine closed?” I look at the entrance, flanked by guards none too keen on letting me in. I was actually going to sleep in there.

“Spiders.” He replied, eyes still locked on the scales. “Bastards took over the mine, now none of the miners can get any work done.”

“Why haven’t the guards dealt with it? They’re just spiders.” I raise an eyebrow, leaning over the railing of his forge.

“When I asked, they gave me so horseshite about keeping watch for enemy soldiers.” He sighed.

“Want me to take care of it?” I ask, pulling off my bow. “And in return, you make me a new set of armor? Just the main set of armor and a pair of boots.”

“Out of the...scaling?” He picked it up. “Got any idea how to even work with this stuff?”

“Same way as leather, I’d assume.” I nod. “I don’t need any fancy spaulders or anything, just something so when I get hit with stuff it doesn’t pierce my organs.” I shrug. “Can you do it?”

“I think I can, lass.” He bounced the scales in his hand, a glint in his eye. “Aye, no thinking. I can. I’m excited to try my hand at something new.”

“Good.” I nod, swinging my bow to my front. Just as well I got him to do it. As an ex-silversmith, I can use a forge, but leatherworking was never my strong suite. Regardless, now it’s killing time. 

I disregard the guard’s word to turn back, and kick open the doors to the mine. A musty, ancient smell permeates throughout. It’s been closed for quite a long time. All the lanterns have gone out, which is to be expected. What was that spell again? Oh right, candlelight. I think of my words, opening my palm slowly. The cheery white ball of light slowly rises out, greeting me and hovering just over my right shoulder. It’s adorable, in its own way. Like Navi but much less annoying. The entire space is just as it should be, plus a few additions. Spiderwebs crowd each of the walls, tying up pickaxes and carts alike. They must have overtaken the mine while the workers were still in here; it looks like everyone dropped what they were holding and ran. Pickaxes littered the floor at regular intervals, followed by bits of rock and ebony ore. 

I creep down the passageway, finally making it into the main room. I can see many glowing eyes in the darkness; my light can only do so much. It would be much easier to do this stealthily. Against my better judgement I extinguish my poor light, creeping onto the suspension bridge. I try to maneuver my way across using just the dim light available. From the echoes and the location of the spiders, I think the mine is just a spiral down. So I’m in a perfect spot for some practice. I stand up on the bridge, peering over the side at 3 sets of glowing orbs, firing off three arrows. The lights go out with a sickening squish, making me cringe all the way up here.

“That all of them?” I whisper, looking around. Just three nearly baby frostbite spiders? That can’t be it. “Laas!” I whisper, looking around for red. I find two more blotches, but unfortunately for me, they’re dangling above my cranium. The hellish monsters, their cover blown, take to lowering themselves on their silk, crashing to the bridge and sending dust flying into the air. By the divines I hope this holds…

I summon the candlelight again, drawing an arrow. These guys are bigger, and what’s worse is they’re on either side of me. I can’t summon an atronach, it’ll burn down the bridge. What do I do?

I fire an arrow into the spider, catching it on one of its pincers. The one behind me charges, crashing into me from behind. I get sent flying forward, nearly off the bridge. I catch the rope siding, making the mistake of looking down to my dangling feet. I’m up pretty high; if I fall I’m dead. The entire mine is just a corkscrew down. Absolutely nothing but the bottom to break my fall. The spiders pause, realizing my predicament even if they have the intelligence of a sweetroll. They look at me with their combined sixteen eyes, their pincers flailing as if tasting me. What can I do? If I climb back up it’s straight into their jaws, if I let go my head is going through my ass at mach speed. All I can do is swing, and even then I can hear the rope straining to hold my weight, with the strands snapping periodically. I have to do something….anything! Come on Rowan, think of something, dammit!

I turn to look down the bridge, finding nothing. The other way proves little more use. A fallen pickaxe a few feet from where I am is all that’s here with me. What, get it and throw it at the spiders, make them play fetch?

I snort at the idea, laughing at tiny spiders playing fetch like a puppy. Though actually, the pickaxe may just save me here. I swing my left hand down towards the pickaxe, grabbing onto the rope. I let go with my right hand, grabbing hold of the pickaxe by the handle and swiping furiously at the Spider’s eyes to ward them off. I have one shot with this. 

With a last swipe, I use my momentum and let go of the rope. I fly across to the mine’s walls, digging the pickaxe into the soft earth and swearing as all the air flies out of my lungs. But I’m safe. I scramble up the wall, hauling myself onto the mining ramp and pulling out my bow again. 

The spiders have shimmied down to meet me, looking at me with dripping pincers. One fires poison, which nicks my armor and dissolves a bit of the leather. I feel a buckle break, and my chestplate nearly falls off. Now I’m really going to need that new set. 

At least now they’re only in front of me. I take the nearest wooden cart and push it in front of me, looking the spiders straight in the eyes before lighting it aflame with a quick firebolt spell. The dry wood burns nicely, letting me shove it with all my might forward into the two of them, making one bail out over the sides and to its untimely death below. The other, I suppose the smarter of the two arachnids, backs up far enough for gravity to take control of the cart and send it back to me. I curse, pressing myself against the wall as the literal chariot of fire hurtles past me, breaking a wheel and splintering into a near instant campfire a ways down the ramp. Can’t use that trick again. Gotta fight.

I draw an arrow, knocking it with muscle memory and aiming it at the eyes. It charges me, fangs raised to try and pry my head off my shoulders, more poison dripping from sheer anticipation. In my panic I fire two arrows into its exoskeleton, alarmed it keeps charging.

“Yol!” I yell, flames bursting from my words. They envelop the spider, making it rear back in pain as it emits a horrifying screech. A last arrow of mine makes its way underneath its stomach, impaling it and flipping the beast over. Another well placed arrow to its face and the monster’s dead.

I sigh; that wouldn’t have been nearly as difficult if Bishop were still here. Or, in my defense, if it wasn’t such a small bridge. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I survived, sure, and now I know to check around in the dark first before making noise.

I make my way back up the platform, opening the doors with a quick prayer to Stendarr for having mercy on me, and a quick damn to Kynareth for making such stupid creatures exist. The guards seemed surprised to see me again, that much was evident. Both turn to me, and I witness a quick exchange of gold between the two.

“They’re all dead.” I reply shortly, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to the entrance. “Dunno how long it’s been closed for, but methinks you need to open it. Now.” Mutters come from them, probably filled with empty promises or excuses or something. I keep my pace, walking up the steps to meet Filnjar. He takes on look at me, sighs in relief, and pats me on the back.

“They all dead?” He asks, wiping a bit of dirt off my face. “Your armor is in shambles.”

“Yeah. Turns out that acid or poison or whatever cut straight through the leather buckles of my spaulders.” I toss the useless scraps of leather and scale onto the floor. “I guess I’m lucky I got here before doing anything big. How’s it going?”

“I’m doing the armor first to experiment. Can you come over here so I can size it?” He asks, taking the sheet of scale and draping it around my midriff. He marked some lines in charcoal, muttering to himself as he takes measurements of my shoulders, waist, and embarrassingly my bust. I get it's necessary, but my face still heats up at a man’s touch there.

“No need to get flustered, lass!” He laughs, making a final mark. “You’ve still got ye clothes on!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! I’ve only just adjusted back to being with people again. I’m more of the type to stay away from settlements for as long as I can.” 

“A  hermit, eh? Just like that other guy.” He paused. “There must be something weird today. We never get any outsiders, yet two of you come through here on the same day. Mayhap it’s a sign.”

“There was a second?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“Aye, cove. Really angry looking. Dark haired, tanned skinned, looked like the type to kill a cat for fun. Called himself a ranger. Wait-you should know- he went into the cave after you.”

“He went...after me?” I pause. What?

“Yeah! He asked about where you went, I told him to clear out the mine, and he went in after you.”

“I never saw him.” I blink. “I was alone...or at least thought I was. Never heard the door open, and it was too dark to see much of anything.”

“That’s...odd. Maybe he wimped out?”

“I doubt that.” I looked around, relieved Filnjar takes the scales off of me. “Did...he leave already?”

“I have no clue where he went if he’s not with you.” He looked up at me while cutting the scales. “Lass, is he stalking you?”

“I didn’t think so…” I freeze. “He was a pretty decent tracker though. Found his pup halfway across Skyrim. Takes skill to do that.” He has to be following me. Or is it just a coincidence? I can’t tell. Perhaps I should leave, see if he follows me. 

“Say, how long do you think that armor is going to take?” I realize it’s still just a sheet of dragon leather. “I know it’s early, but…”

“By tomorrow morning.” He declared. “Noon by the latest.”

“Really?” My ears perked up. That’s not too long. “You don’t have any other work?”

“Do I look like I get many orders around here?” He scoffed. “There’s only two other houses besides my own. I’m happy to be working for a change. 

“That’s good. Anywhere around here you think I should go to wait?”

“Hmmm. Clearspring Tarn? There’s a pond there. I’d think it’d be pleasant for a bath if you want to clean yourself off.”

“Where?”

“West. Right around the mountain. If you reach Darkwater Crossing you’ve gone too far.”

“Alright. Thanks, I’ll be back tomorrow.” I said, gathering my stuff and heading out. Finally, time for a bath!

…

I reach the pond, a small pooling of water that was so crystal clear I didn’t bother to boil it before putting it into my waterskin. I set my pack down by the edge of the pond, unrolling my sleeping pad and looking out onto the water. Dragonflies skittered across the surface of the natural mirror, dancing with each other in the retreating light. The early fireflies lazily flew around the edge, balling up tight together as they became attracted to each other’s light. It was breathtaking. The warm spring night reminded me of back home in markarth, where the cicadas never shut up and the smell of juniper is always lingering. 

Clearspring Tarn...I’ll have to remember this place. I should make a fire first, and then get to washing myself and my clothes. There’s a good array of sticks and fallen log pieces to build a proper cone out of, so a few minutes and a little bit of magic gave me a roaring fire by my bedroll. Now time for me.

I sit by the pond, surveying myself. I set to washing my face off, slowly erasing what seemed like a week’s worth of grime. My hair finally returns to its normal honeyed sheen, and my skin no longer seems splotchy. I was never one for warpaint, but considering how much dirt was on my face people probably thought I had some on. I massage my feet while sitting on the bank, pleased at how the cool water feels on them. Bathing is so refreshing; I’m so glad Filnjar recommended this place. Not only is it perfect, it’s secluded as well. I’m sure I’d be able to tell if anyone was trying to get up he-

“Bathing alone, are we?” A calm voice says from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin,standing up and turning so fast I nearly fell over. 

“Bishop?!” I squeak, alarmed. So much for my prior words.

“Oh come now, ladyship. Bathing’s no fun on the shore.” He grinned, picking me up in his arms like a little kid.

“Wait, no, Bishop, I can’t-” Before I could squeeze out that last word, he had thrown me into the middle of the pond where I couldn’t touch.

 

I hit the water in a way I can only describe as a sack of potatoes. My heavy underarmor still clung loosely to my waist, making it impossible to even struggle against the water. 

 

I can’t swim, I’ve never been able to. My last near drowning experience was when I was a kid, and fell into one of the rivers near Markarth. Thankfully my fiance was there to save me. Now...not so much. 

I flop around a bit, giving my best attempt to struggle towards the surface. I scream instinctively, letting out my precious oxygen. Great going, me. How am I going to struggle my way out of this? How do people swim, anyway!?

I do my best, swinging my hands as I’ve seen people do. It’s no use, it just disorients me further. I kick my feet, but just like my hands, they don’t get me anywhere, they just sink me to the bottom. I open my eyes, seeing nothing but murky water. I’ve kicked the dirt up into the water, meaning I’m somewhere near the bottom. I flip onto my stomach best I can, pushing off with my hands and feet to shoot me to the surface.

Precious oxygen! I take a gulp of air as quick as I can, and it’s back to struggling. I try to tread water like I’ve seen people do once or twice, but of course in my panicked state it’s not working. The extra weight starts to sink me again, and my tired muscles can’t contest the force. My head starts to go under again, and I swallow straight water before submerging. 

All at once I was hauled out of the water, thrown over Bishop’s shoulder, and set on shore. While I was coughing up pond water he sat next to me, patting my back until I could finally breathe.

Immediately I took off my armor and bow, setting them near my roll and distancing myself as far as I could from the water. By Oblivion, could he have not helped me sooner?

“I’m...sorry.” Bishop finally said after a minute. “I figured you’d be able to swim.”

“You figured!? You figured! No!” I snapped, looking around to him. My eyes were red from coughing so badly, and after speaking so quickly I went back to coughing my lungs out. “I can’t! And what else? I have my damn armor on!”

“Are you alright?” He went to come help me, but I batted his hand away angrily. 

“Do I look okay?” I nearly wheezed, finally looking back up at him. “What the hell were you thinking!?”

“That a dragonborn wouldn’t be done in by a bit of water.” He said, his eyes genuinely sorrowful. Though I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. Why would he do that? Who in oblivion would just throw someone into the water? 

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to kill me and claim the reward.” I said, ripping my armor off of me and laying it on the log near the fire. “Gods, Bishop. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I said sorry!” He protested. “You’re probably one of the only people in Skyrim who can’t swim!” 

“Shut up, honestly! Who do you think you are, following me all the way out here, scaring the wits out of me and half drowning me?” I wring the water out of my hair, smoothing it back from my face.

“Well I wanted to see what a day in the life of the dragonborn was like, but apparently that’s just running around, risking your neck for other people. I’d expect you to be a bit more of your own person!” He defended himself. “Who, may I add, could swim.”

“I help people because they  _ need  _ help, Bishop! No one could get that mine open but me, so I did. And because of it, I get a new set of armor. I see no issue in that.”

“Yeah, except you almost died because those stupid miners didn’t have enough sense to make a bridge wider than four feet across! Or make anything even remotely sound!”

“Then why didn’t you help me!?” I spit. “You went in the damn mine too!”

“Because a certain little girl said she worked alone!” He snarled. “And rejected my help when I tried to give it to her.”

That was true. I immediately shut up, staring into the flames to try and warm the chill that had formed after my scare. 

“Today was an exception.” I mutter.

“Yeah? Because what I’ve seen, you really need someone by your side. But you’re just too stubborn to see that.”

“And why do you care so much? I thought the great ranger Bishop wasn’t for hire?”

“Not to just anyone, but the dragonborn I’d make an exception. Particularly a keen-eyed dragonborn who needed some help. I’m sure that with you’d I’d get a fat coin purse and more people to rip apart than I could alone.”

“So you want to use me? Typical.” I shake myself off, looking up into the now starry sky. “I don’t know what use you see in it, but don’t blame me for your untimely death.” The words are bitter in my mouth. I’ve said the same thing to more than a few people, and nearly all have been severely injured or died. Because of that I studied restoration so intensely, and yet still don’t have the knowledge to save everybody.

“Ladyship?” Bishop towers above me, leaning over at the waist with a very unthoughtful look on his face. “I’m coming with you. Even if I have to follow behind at a hundred paces, I’ll always be there. Or, I could walk beside with you, and give you someone to talk to.” 

I bit my lip, thinking it over. I can always lose him, right? I can always hurt his feelings, send him packing? Pay him off? Something.

“You’ve already seen my tracking abilities, don’t think I can’t do it.” He says smugly. “Me an Karynwyr’ll do it. For as long as we need to.” The wolf came out from the brush, circling around his waist as if to make a point. He sat on the ground lazily, staring at me with piercing orange eyes, reminding me of a dragon’s tongue flower. 

“Fine! You win.” I fling my hands in the air in defeat, glaring at him with my icy glare. “Don’t come running to me when you get impaled by a falmer arrow, or your arm bit off by a dragon! Okay!? I won’t be responsible for it!”

“Sounds like the little girl has had some bad experiences.” He hit the nail on the head with that one. “Don’t worry, ladyship. You’ve never met a fighter like me before.”

“That’s what they all say.” I reply dryly, tugging a tunic on. “Now for the love of all things holy, can we please just get some sleep? I’m tired and have armor to pick up.”

“‘Course.” He grinned, pleased at the use of ‘we’ in that sentence. “Night, ladyship. Sure you don’t want me in your bedroll?”

“Yes.” I say, tucking myself into my sleeping pad and trying to pretend like none of the past twenty minutes happened. “And I will get you back for nearly drowning me.”

“I look forward to it.” He purred, leaning against the fallen log. 

…

“Good morning, Princess.” Bishop greets, waking me from my slumber.

“The sun’s too bright!” I mumble, rolling over. All of a sudden, I can no longer feel the sunshine on my skin. “Hah?” I open my eyes to see Bishop crouching over me, his huge back blocking out the sun. “You know, that light probably traveled millions upon millions of miles to reach the ground, just to be stopped by you.”

“No, it would hit you. And that’s just a waste.” 

“That could either be a compliment or an insult depending on how I took it.” I pause for a second. “I’ll take it as an insult.”

“Forever bitter, are you?” He stands up, brushing himself off. “Let’s get moving. I don’t like this place for some reason.”

“Why? What’s going to attack, foxes? Maybe a sabre cat?”

“That’s what the scar on your cheek is from, isn’t it?”

“...Maybe.” I reply, standing up and rolling up my bed. I tie it to the bottom of my pack again, swinging the whole thing onto my back. Time to get my armor! “Though in my defense, I was little older than a kid. Didn’t even have a bread knife, let alone a sword or bow.”

“You met a sabrecat when you were small, yet you’re from Markarth? How does that work?”

“Wait, how did you know I was from Markarth?”

“You got a pretty considerable bounty in the Reach, ladyship.” He took out a paper from his belt, handing it to me. 

“A hundred gold? Little old me?” I snort. “Wow, I thought it was higher.”

“What do the Silver-bloods got against you?”

“It’s too early for questions.” I say lazily, bringing a piece of flatbread out of my pouch. “Save it for later, will you?”

“I’ll weasel answers out of you yet.” He promises.

“Why, you plan on collecting?” My hand clenches, ready to summon something if need be.

“No.” He replied quietly. “I don’t. And I don’t lie, ladyship.”

“Then don’t worry about it.” I snort. “Know any shortcuts back to Shor’s Stone?”

…

“Hey Filnjar!”

“Lass!” He calls out. “I just finished your armor!”

“Awesome!” I run forward from Bishop, ignoring the snort. I bound up the steps of the forge, whirling around the space to find the armor. 

“First off, here’s the rest o’ the scales.” He tucks them into my pack. “Second, try the boots.” He sets them in front of me, making me gasp and my eyes twinkle. They were glorious. Steel-toed with tapering scales, topped by a buckle to keep them from slipping off under any circumstance. I take off my old, tattered ones, putting the new ones on with pride. They fit perfectly, and instead of of leather soles the new pair house a sort of diamond pattern on the bottom, with rows of steel beams with leather in between.

“I saw the slice taken out of your boot.” He chuckled. “Figured if you use your feet to protect ya, I may as well make it safer. Without making it much heavier, mind you.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Now for the armor!” He brings it out from the workbench, draping it in front of me. I blush at seeing the cups, my face flushing red. I hear Bishop snorts again in the background.

“Go somewhere private and switch out, girl.” He instructs. “Just duck in my house, there’s no one in ‘ere.”

“Alright.” I agree, taking the armor and slipping into the house. 

I take my tunic and leather pants off, looking around the place. It looked like any common house. A bed, a few chests, a bookshelf, and food and smithing supplies littered everywhere. I look around, pleased at the warmness of the hearth and the comfort the house would provide. It was small, but cozy. I always wanted a home like this for myself, but I know deep down it won’t happen.

Not to be depressing, but realistic. That would require a husband to make me settle down, and I love adventuring too much. And I’ve already learned I’ve finished with marriage. It’s bad business. Besides, I’ve gotten richer than many of the nobles in this country off of my adventures; if I want to settle down; I'll do it alone. 

“Going to dress or what, Ladyship?” Bishop pokes his head in from the door, immediately being yanked out by Flinjar. I yelp in surprise, shoving myself into the armor with haste. I can’t see myself in the mirror, but I feel good. Just like the boots, it fits me perfectly. The top scales layer down into my belt, splitting off to cover my hips and thighs. Just as I had asked, it bore no spaulders, just a groove diagonally from my shoulders to my hips used to house my bow. I slap the armor with my hands, walking out of the house confidently. I feel much safer in this than my tattered armor.

“By the nine!” Flinjar claps. “It fits!”

“And fits perfectly.” I nod. “Thank you! The bow channel is quite nice.”

“You like that? I figured I may as well put something there.” He nods, approving. “You look ready for battle, girl.”

“I feel ready for battle.” I chuckle. “None too soon. I have places to go and people to shoot me.”

“I think it’s ‘people to shoot’, princess.”

“I know what I said.” I raise an eyebrow. “I gotta pay you something, Flinjar. It’s too nice.”

“Call it a gift if you must, girl. You did save this settlement.” He winks. “Off with ye’! You got adventurin to do!”

“I do, don’t I?” I look to Bishop. “Well, if you ever need someone to kill a few arachnids…”

“I’ll send a courier.” Flinjar snorts. “And if you need someone to repair that, come on back. Or go to any blacksmith. Stuff wasn’t too much trouble.”

“That’s a relief. It’s touchy as oblivion to get, trust me.”

“I believe ye’.” He paused. “Begone! You have adventures to do, young’uns!”

“Fine! Fine!” I step down from the blacksmith, walking off down the road north to Windhelm. Bishop ran to catch up, Karnwyr at his heels. 

I bring my map out from my pack, holding it open. I mark Clearspring Tarn on the map, using my quill to impatiently tap the paper. We should go to Ralbthar, I haven’t been there yet. Jorleif-the steward of Windhelm-said there were some bandits in there. Although I really hate the stormcloaks, I can’t pass up some coin. And getting on Ulfric’s good side may be beneficial later one. I’m not one for this war, I’m more concerned of the dragons, but I see the imperials as the better evil. Losing worship of Talos-which we’ll do anyway-is much better than taking every non-nord and separating them from society. Including me, kind of. The inhabitants of High Rock are accepted a bit more, especially since you can’t really tell a nord from a breton if they’re old. 

“If you let an old guy touch your boobs, why not me?” Bishop breaks the silence.

“Are you really thinking about that?” I sigh. 

“You seemed flustered.” He pointed out. “Imagine you, looking like some sort of smitten market girl at the sight of some fitted armor.”

“I never realized they were that size, shut up okay!?” I snap. “Now keep quiet, I’m trying to figure out a path to Ralbthar.” 

“That old dwarven ruin? Why are we going there?”

“Bandits.”

“Oh. Dibs on the biggest one.”

“Whatever.” I reply, putting the map away. “Alright, I know where we’re going.”

“So do I.”

“But you didn’t see the map.” I quip.

“I don’t need maps, ladyship.” He smirks. “I always know where I’m going. Right Karnwyr?” The wolf whines a bit, I suppose to agree with him. Or saying he’s full of shit. It’s hard to tell. 

I sense a presence behind us, nagging on my Id. Should I ask about it? No. Then he’ll think we’re crazy. But it really does seem like every time we pass an outcropping, I see movement as if the rock was alive. Or something was behind it. If I use aura whisper now, he’ll call me paranoid! 

But there it was again! As we turn the corner on the road, something darts out of vision. There’s no way I’m going crazy.

“Do you feel like we’re being followed?” I finally ask.

“No.” Bishop looks around. “If there was something, Karnwyr or I would sense it. And I’m picking up nothing.” He turned around, looking back the way we came and walked backwards. “I think it’s just your imagination, sweetheart.” 

“My imagination? I definitely keep seeing things.” I scratch my head. “Or maybe you woke me up too early.”

“You talk in your sleep, you know that? About black dragons and random people.”

“Do I?”

“That’s why I woke you up so early. You think I wanted to do that? You resembled a cave bear just coming out of hibernation.” Bishop snorts, turning back around. “So about Markarth…”

I didn’t even get the chance to reply before an arrow plants itself into my arm, knocking me into Bishop. He catches me as I totter, pushing me steady and whipping his bow out. I yank the arrow out best I can, displeased the arrowhead remains. Whatever.

I grab Artemis off my back, nocking an arrow and searching the hillside for any life.

“Laas!” I shout, searching urgently for red mist. I see three dotting the hillside, each sliding down to the road. “Three, by the rock! One archer.” The light fades, leaving me adjusting back to normal colors. Another arrow comes flying towards us, burying itself in the road by Bishop’s foot. I hear a soft curse come from afar.

“I can’t see him anymore!” I say, exasperated. I run forward to the best of my ability, a flame emerging in the palm of my hand. I throw as many as I can manage into the side of the hill, lighting the green brush aflame to try and flush them out. The archer leaps out onto the rock in desperation, firing another arrow at me. It hits me square in the chest, and to my utter amazement, bounces off as if it was nothing. Thank you, Flinjar!

“Nice!” I react, nocking an arrow. I leave the archer duel to Bishop, instead preferring to take to shooting the two swordsman as they come near. One with a glass shortsword, glowing with a fire enchantment and the other with a greatsword tingling with a frost. Great. Two elementals that will burn me two different ways!

I fire off an arrow, bouncing it off the short swordsman’s shield. It barely even bothered the fellow Breton. That’s not going to work. I fire another into the greatsword user, a khajit with a tail half cut off. Seems like he doesn’t have much to lose. It plants itself in his side, though he doesn’t slow him down. 

I hate to be stereotypical here, but I think he’s on skooma. There’s no way that didn’t hurt.

The Breton got to me first, knocking my bow aside and slicing the exposed flesh between my hip scale and the armor bodice. I wince at the pain, knocking the man aside and stepping back as far as I can in the few seconds it provided. I summon a frost atronach, the best I can do with my mediocre mage talent. The thing rises out of oblivion, greeting me with its giant popsicle body. 

“Bishop!” I call, throwing a potion from my belt over to him. His head whirls around at my voice, and thankfully he catches the vial in time. He looks to the vial, and back at me, and to the vial again. With a doubting glare he pops it back, drinking the thing in one chug. I do the same to myself, pulling another one off my belt and calling bottom’s up. It’s bitter and tastes of Juniper, but I down it and watch my vision blur momentarily before being replaced with what seemed like markers. I pick up my bow again, my mind melding with my aim completely. It’s no longer my aim guiding my bow, but the bow guiding me. It’s only momentarily, but in this moment I feel like a divine. 

I draw an arrow, turning to the Breton. I sink an arrow into his sword shoulder, and not even before he can stagger back I’ve sent another through his stomach. In my haste I draw a third, watching the world slow as I hear the arrow kick onto the bowstring. I point it at the khajit, my eyes immediately lining the shot up with its breast. I fire, listening the the twang of the string and the evenness of my breath.

The potion, as long as it lasted, leaves me finally, surrounded by two bodies and a frost Atronach. I look to Bishop who is also crouched over his quarry, pawing over the man’s gold pouch with a grin.

“You’re an alchemist, Princess?”

“I dabble.” I comment. “Anything good on ‘im?”

“For some reason, he had a bunch of gold on him. And....” He opens the man’s side pouch. “A note.”

“What does it say?” I ask, mimicking Bishop. I pull off the two men’s coin pouches, adding them to my own. I yank off a ring, and decide the elven dagger this one has on him would do me nicely. I slide it into my belt on the back, holstering it onto the small of my waist. It fits snugly, exactly what I wanted. “Oh come on, I know you’re literate. What does it say?”

“Ladyship.” He says without expression. “I’m going to ask you again. What. Did. You. Do. In. Markarth?” He raises the note, waiting for me to jog over and read it.

 

_ Here's the sum we agreed upon. _

_ I trust that you will make Rowan pay for crossing us.  _

_ Return to me with proof of the deed. _

_ If you run afoul of the law, I will pay your bounty. _

_ Thonar Silver Blood _

 

“Well then.” I breathe, stumbling backwards. “That’s very rude, don’t you think?”

“Why is the most powerful family in Markarth after your skin? And why did they send hired thugs?” I fall silent, trying to find the words. 

“Why, you going to leave once you find out?” I scoff, crossing my arms.

“I just want to see the Dragonborn a bit flustered.” Bishop purred. “A reasonable request.” 

“What, you want me to throw my hands in the air, cry a little bit, tell you a sob story about my past? Go running through the woods, hurt, and forever tell the tale of you?” I crouch down next to him, our noses a mere inch from each other.

“Ranger, I’m wanted in Markarth because a certain Silver Blood tried to have an affair with me, and when I denied, accused me of stealing silver from them, since I was a training silversmith there at the time. I came out and accused him of it outright.” I shove him over lightly, glad he’s paralyzed by the story. “Betrid Silver-Blood apparently was up his ass with it for a while, but he finally converted her to his story, and once that happened everyone turned over. I was run out as a liar and as a thief, and haven’t been back since.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” He sat himself back up. “Funny how money can change society so readily.”

“Yeah.” I stand up, helping him to his feet. “I’m an open book, ask away.” I pause, amused he opens his mouth to ask another question. “Only if I get to ask a question each time too.”

“Hm, now that just isn’t fair, Ladyship.” He smirks.

“What do you mean? That  _ made  _ it fair!” I snort. “Cold feet, or did you kill someone in Black Marsh or something?”

“Very funny.” He scoffs. “Morrowind, actually.”  
“Really?” I laugh. “Nice!”

“Kidding. You should know I wouldn’t get caught.” He waits for me to shove the last body near the edge of the road, and off we go down the path again. I take both my hands and place them on my hip, willing my restoration magic to work their stuff. Skin stitches together, replacing flesh and purifying the area. Good enough.

“You got wounds?” I look over to him. 

“One in the shoulder.” He replies. “So, everyone in Markarth was against you?”

“Yeah. Even my fiance, Apolinus. Though in his defense, he was the last to be converted. He was convinced once he saw my coin pouch after sneaking into my house. I had actually just been helping out at the Hag’s Cure, a potion store, but he didn’t believe it. Even when I told him to go ask the owner.” I smile a bit, switching to his shoulder to heal it. “He was so embarrassed he led the charge to chase me out. Funny, really. He was pretty scrawny, I’m sure I could’ve taken him out.”

“But you couldn’t, because feelings, eh Princess?”

“Nah. Every bit of a bond two people have is split with a knife of betrayal.” 

   I smile pleasantly. “As far as I’m concerned, my childhood friend died and has been brought back to life by the Silver-Blood necromancers.”

“Can’t spell necromance without romance, Ladyship.” Bishop grinned, pleased with himself. I laugh too, I never realized that about the word.

“That gives necrophilia a new twist.” I laugh, immediately clasping my thigh. “Ow!”

“You’re twisted.” He said finally.

“J’accuse!” I accused.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“Fuck if I know.” I scoff. “Something something foreign language, probably.”

“I’m sure.” Even Karnwyr snorts, calling my BS.

“So, my turn for a question.” I call, tipping my head towards the noon sky. “Where ya from?”

“Here. From a secluded little gathering that no longer exists anymore.” He grinned. “Met Karnwyr when he was a pup.”

“Damn, two answers for the price of one.” I curse. “Alright, you get two.”

“Hmmm.” He thought. “How did you meet your fiance, and how long were you engaged for?” 

I eyed him weirdly, as it was definitely justified. Rooting around with my fiance, of all things? Not the dragonborn thing, being a wanted criminal thing, or wearing a giant lizard?

“Childhood friends. When I came to Markarth to be an apprentice, he and I were just some small kids. He asked me when we were nineteen, and we were engaged for three years while we got enough money for a house. Didn’t happen, he kicked me out a few months before the wedding.”

“Your turn.” He declared deviously.

“Favorite color, and favorite city in Skyrim?”

“Red, and definitely Falkreath or Riverwood. Anywhere green.” He paused, thinking of his next quest. “What’s your favorite color, and the most annoying thing you hate?”

“Favorite color is grey, annoying thing I hate is how large the dwemer ruins are.”

“Why?” He blinked. “I expected skeevers, or spiders, or…”

“No, I hate dwemer ruins. They were dwarves, right? So why is everything either oversized or human-sized? It’s like they were trying to ignore their dwarfism! And then, because of their damn vanity and inability to compact simple rooms, there are huge gigantic caverns just collapsing and filling up with falmer. Everything could have been avoided if they had just made rooms them-sized!”

“...Interesting argument.” He notes. 

“Anyway, map, where is Ralbthar?” I look around. “Thought it was over here.” In an instant the ranger had grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me to the left, forcing me to look over the ridge. I could see the tops of one of the towers just over the crest. “Oh…”

“Right.” He says, pulling out his bow. “Bandits.”


	3. Warming Up

“Are you sure you're good to stealth? That leather armor looks a bit...jangly. That leather armor of yours has way too many metal belts.”

“Ladyship it's literally made of  _ hide _ .”

“That was a fantastic pun and I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He drew his bow as we crested the hill, looking down onto the dwarven ruins. Snow fell around us, bringing an unwelcome chill into the air that nipped at my nose. I was used to the southern part of Skyrim; this cold was unwelcome. I don’t have a cloak to pull over me; I’ll just have to deal with the bitterness.

“You haven’t given me a reason yet.” I scoff. “Give me time.” 

“Now that’s just harsh, ladyship.” He grins, waiting until I drew my bow. “Looks like there’s quite a few to welcome us. How are we getting paid?”

“The gold is only on the bandit leader. He’s probably somewhere inside.” 

“Of course he is. Probably safe behind the rest of his cronies, sitting on his ass drinking mead.”

“Well that is how this works.” I scoff. “The high rankers get to be protected.”

“Yeah. And those with coin stand behind those who don’t.” He pauses. “You know, I haven’t met anyone who’s as bitter as I am about society.”

“Oh please. I’m from Markarth, run by a family literally called the  _ SILVER BLOODS _ . Don’t talk to me about rich snobbiness.” I scoff. “I’ve seen opulence and decadence beyond your imagining. The silver I worked with was just a day’s sweat an’ blood for some poor guy or gal, and they just treated it like dirt.”

“Boils your blood, doesn’t it?” He asked.

“Yep.” I say bitterly.

“Want to take it out on them?” He asks again.

“Yep.” I survey the situation, watching two bandits sit at a table in front of the ruin. “I’ll take out the one on the right, you take the left. We’ll do this silently.”

“Sounds good.” He whispers.

“Oh yeah.” I look behind us. “Where’s Karnwyr?”

“Probably chasing bunnies, I have no clue.” He looked to me, eyes testing my gaze. “Why, need something to protect you?”

“More like protect you, asshat.” I creep up over the hill, careful to stick to the trees.

“Ouch. That’s scathing, Princess.” He scoffs.

“Good!” I huff, looking back to him. He has an arrow nocked in, and with his slow descent up the hill I can see the glint in his eye. He enjoys killing. Wonder if he’ll ever decide to carry on his hobby with me. Despite his actions until now, I’m still wary of him. I’m confident that if he tries something I can handle it; however there’s still that fear of betrayal weighing on me. If he tries anything in the middle of the night I’ll surely shout him to the clouds, and gift his body to a hagraven for good measure.

Back to what we’re doing. Due to our detour, we’re on the east side of the entrance, actually on the slope above the door. We have the actual drop on these guys. I wait for Bishop to get closer to his target before myself, creeping down the roof of one of the towers to the ground above the entrance. I sit on the lip of the front, knocking an arrow and looking to Bishop. He’s staring back at me, waiting for us both to be prepared. We look down and back to each other, silently deciding that on three is when we strike.

_ One _

_ Two _

_ Three _

I peek out from over the lip, sending my arrow through the skull of the bandit. I hear the other bandit yelp in agony before a second thunk shuts him up.

“Lost your aim a bit, haven’t we?” I chuckle to myself. A quick survey reveals the quickest way to the door is straight down; and I was always a sucker for saving time. There’s some rubble below for me to jump onto. Won’t break my fall softly, but I won’t break my legs from that height. I swing myself over the lip, dangling my feet until I line up with a broken pillar. With a last look down I let go, hitting the pillar into a crouch before grasping the sides with my hands. Better than expected. I swing myself over the side, hitting the stone cobble with a thump before turning to see Bishop furiously running down the slope towards the door.

“What happened to that legendary aim of yours?” I tease.

“Shut your mouth.” He warns.

“No really.” I ask, a smile curling on my lips.

“Shut it!” 

“Oh come on.”

“I missed! I missed, damn it! Now shut your mouth before I cut your tongue out!” He snarls, whirling on me.

“Rude.” I comment, putting some space in between us. “Have you recovered your aim and sense of humor, or should we turn around?”

“I’m good.” He hissed.

“If you say so.” I grin, cracking open the door and listening in. Only a few in the entrance hall. “Three or so.” I whisper.

“That it?” He tries to look into the small space, squinting.

“Probably more further in. I can hear a fire trap on.” I sigh, opening the door. “Let’s go. Follow me!”

“Only if I can stare at your hips.” He grins. “Gotta make up for your teasing.”

“Whatever.” I sigh, slithering in. I wait for him to hide behind a pillar before closing the door again. We’re up against four bandits that I can see; a female breton, a male khajit, a male orc, and a female bosmer. Bishop’s staring at them deep in thought, acting as if the world has stopped. Sorry, but we can’t really have that right now. I take out a potion from my belt, going to hand it to him. It’s another archery one. 

As soon as my hand reaches into his eyesight, I feel intense pressure on my wrist and a dagger at my breast. His angle is far above what I’d define as comfortable, digging under the plates of my armor and ripping at my bare flesh through my tunic. I freeze, unable to formulate words in panic. 

“Just you.” He whispers with a deep sigh. “Potion?”

“Archery…” I whisper back. “I’m...just going to go over there.” I roll across to the row of pillars on the other side, crouching behind the second row ahead of Bishop. I down an archery and a stealth potion, waiting momentarily for my vision to blur, only to return with the shapes and knowledge from the effects. 

I wave my hand open-palmed towards him, urging him to take the ones diagonal from him. If we shoot the ones on our side, they’ll slide out the door or clang on the metal gate. If we hit them from the side, with any luck the force will push them out of the way and more importantly, kill them unnoticed.

He nods, still glaring at me with hooded eyes as if not trusting my judgement. I raise both eyebrows, making a funny face before drawing an arrow. I hold up three fingers, dropping one every second before releasing at zero. The Bosmer slams into the wall, followed by the orc. Round one completed, now for round two.

Before the other two could alarm the rest, Bishop and I sent an arrow through their ribs. We hadn’t given them time to draw their weapons, so the sheathed blades and arrows gave little noise to warn the others. Besides, with that fire trap roasting that skeever so loudly, I think we may have been able to wage war with the four of them and still get away with it.

We creep up to the grate, both taking a moment to pull our arrows out of the bodies. The fire blocks us from the back passage, forcing us to head straight through the bandits in the side passage. I raise my hand up, making Bishop pause. 

“Laas!” I chant, watching the peaks of red in the other room. I hold up three fingers; there’s two people and the bandit chief. 

I creep into the doorway, peeking through to the three of them huddled around the hearth. The smell of fire and food wafts through the hall we’re in, making my nose twitch angrily. I’m starving.

“You take the one closest, I’ll take the archer, and we’ll both fire at the chief.” Bishop whispers, wrapping a hand around my forearm and tugging me to him. “Careful, you’re out too far.”

“Thanks.” I whisper back, shifting to allow him to slip past me. We both pull our strings back, making a quick glance to each other before letting go. His falls to the ground with a clatter; mine, however, takes the arrow to the chest like a champ.

“Plan B.” I mutter, yanking us both to our feet. I wait, summoning myself dual swords. This might be a bit tricky. The bandit leader has a nordic carved warhammer in her hands. One or two swings with that and I’m done. At least there’s no archer to deal with? Fuck it, this is bad. “I go after the chief. You go after the other.”

“Wait a second, other way around!” He says, yanking on my sleeve. I shake him off, pushing past and jumping up onto one of the benches, using the height to my advantage to jump onto the bandit chief. She raises her hammer to block my blow, recovering badly from the second strike. She bashes with her huge monster of a hammer, nearly knocking me off my feet as I slide backwards, my boots having no traction on the slick stone floors. I can hear Bishop behind me angrily throwing arrows into the other guy, his words a string of curses.

I grin, I can’t help it. 

The warhammer comes down, distracting me from Bishop’s issue behind me. I deflect it with my sword, sliding to the left so it strikes the ground to my right. While she’s hauling that weapon back up, I slash at her side and arm, pleased I get a hiss in response. 

“I’ll have your head.” She tries to spit on my boots. Hey, these are new! I go in for another strike, upset she raises the hammer in time to block it. She shoves the hilt of the hammer into me, slamming me into the pillar behind us. I slip to the ground, shoving a hand behind me and pushing myself off with a roll. I slide to my feet, tottering to my feet as she turns to face me. I push a flame atronach out of Oblivion with a spell, pleased it begins hurling firebolts immediately. The flame atronach throws a fireball at her, sending her on the defensive. With my bow out again, we’re in business. She can’t approach either of us without taking a huge amount of damage. And fire and arrows are not a pretty combo.

The commotion behind me gets louder; my ears register boulders sliding down a stone surface accompanied by yelps from my companion. I pause, breathing out and trying to see if I can look at what’s happening without turning, refusing to turn my back on the enemy. Does he need my help? Is he injured? A heavy grunt by Bishop sends me spinning around, ready to run over there if need be. “Bish-”

“Rowan!” He yells back, his face full of worry. What? 

A hammer blow connects to my side, slamming me to the floor and sending me spinning over to the wall. From my sideways vision I can see my flame atronach on the floor, lifeless, about to explode into a fiery wave. 

My head is blurry, and my vision is going in and out of focus. At least I’m still awake. Still...awake. 

I shake my head, trying to clear my head as best I can. I regain a bit of my vision, drawing my swords again. It’s the only thing I had enough magic for. I look over to Bishop, seeing his dagger keeping a sword from slicing his face. Their power struggle means I’m not getting any help with this.

I cast a quick healing spell on myself before the chief arrives, rolling past her and attempting to strike at her back. My blade simply bounces off her tin can of an armor.

“That all’ve got?” She laughs, swinging her warhammer sideways. It swings inches from my nose as I jump backwards in surprise. I’m reeling; if that had been a little closer I wouldn’t have a head. She’s strong.

“No!” I say, raising my two swords in front of me. Remember what I did back in Cragslane Cavern? Let’s go for broke. I sweep forward, my knuckles scraping the ground to get the right angle.

I throw the first of my swords, trying my best to keep it existing despite not touching me. I feel my hand twitching, channeling magic to the flying object. It cramps my palm, making me wince as I struggle to hold the other. The sword bounces off her with only a dent, as I knew it would; but damage wasn’t its intended purpose. My aim was true; the angle I threw it at ricochet's the sword up into the air, forcing her gaze up too. I focus everything to my legs, pushing me as fast as my body can go to reach her. At the last moment I split to the right, running past her with my elbow in the air. Before her gaze wanders back to me I’ve already rammed my sword into her neck, wrenching it to the side with a sickening fleshy slice.

She falls to the floor, blood spilling out the side into the cracks in the stone floor. 

“That was incredibly stupid.” Bishop comments, stepping up to the body. “Princess, really, we need to get that head of yours checked.”

“Ow…” I say, bringing up my right hand. It’s spasming by itself, twitching from the over exertion. 

“Look at you, falling apart after just a few bandits…” He sneers. “Alright, we’re heading to Windhelm, right, mighty dragonborn?”

“Actually, why don’t we go through the ruins?” I ask, surveying the room we’re in.

“You’re kidding.” He scoffs.

“No, really.” I bring out a restoration potion, handing him one too. “Bottoms up.”

“Why do you have so many tiny vials?” He looks down.

“I’m a Breton. At high rock, even the smallest kid can make an effective potion.” I scoff. “I haven’t been familiar with weapons for too long. But alchemy and magic are in my blood. I had friends who could conjure a wrathman from the soul cairn. I’ve never seen that hellish draugr lose to anything.” 

“Yet you don’t have the common sense to look at your opponent.” He comments. “Ladyship, generally, when you’re fighting someone you keep your eyes on them and not on me. I know I’m handsome, but really. It’s a bit much.”

“You’re the one who yelped like a barmaid who got groped.” I accuse.

“And that’s the sound to pique your curiosity?” He grins. “Do you swing the other way, Ladyship?”

“No!” I blush, waving the thought away. “Whatever! Shut up and help me loot them!” 

“I already did.” He held up a silver necklace, swinging it in front of my face as if to hypnotize me. “Shiny.”

“Let’s get the bandit chief, then.” I kneel in front of the body, taking her coin purse and dumping it into my own. I pull a few healing potions off of her, and the scant lockpicks she had even if they were bent. “Eh.” I look down the chamber to the door at the end of the hall, still locked tight. Looks like they haven’t explored yet. I turn around, laying eyes on a dead dwarven spider and a dwemer chest that’s obviously been smashed repeatedly with a hammer. The chest won, as it would look.

“Junk.” Bishop follows my gaze. “Let’s get to windhelm.”

“Hey Bishop.” My eyes lock on the spider, particularly the cracked soul gem in the top.

“Yes, Ladyship?” He took a step towards the exit.

“Want to go in?”

“No.” He replies immediately. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to die from some trap the dwarves put up. They may have been short, ladyship, but they’re smart.”

“We can be smart too, you know.” I walk over to the dwarven spider, checking the joints on its legs. Only one is bad; I yank it off in order to disconnect it from the soul gem in the top. I take out a lesser soul gem from my pack, bouncing it in my hand in order to size it up to the one in the spider.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it obvious that I’m from Markarth.” I say finally, popping open the top of the spider and releasing the clamps on its broken soul gem. I plug in one of my own, flipping the top down and waiting.

A slight hum begins from its metal workings, and soon enough steam pours out of its sides like a double sided tea kettle. It orients itself to me, flailing its attacking arms in greeting before turning to Bishop. It does the same, and once done with its ritual, contently stays by my side as I stand up and walk to the chest.

“I’d say something, but it’s vulgar and I don’t know if that thing has ears.” Bishop says finally. I pick the lock on the chest, pulling out a gem and a few ingots. “I don’t care what friends you have, I am  _ not  _  stepping foot in there.” He says finally. “I’ll leave!”

“Excellent.” I look over to him. “Then I won’t have to worry about you moaning during a fight!”

“You’re so cruel, Ladyship.” He sighs.

“In truth, I would rather have you with me.” I turn to him, folding my arms to my chest. “I’m beginning to like the idea of a traveling partner.”

“Yeah? If so, let’s go travel. To Windhelm. For our money.” He jerks his thumb behind his shoulder, motioning with his head. “Out!”

“Hey Bishop, why were the dwarves underground?” Obviously I know why, but it’s best to convince him this way.

“To...dig...and get ore?”

“What kind of ore, Bishop?”

“Corundum and...oh.” He sighs. “Gold.”

“I seem to remember reading a book that this was a gold trading post.” I grin. “Untouched.” He thinks it over, emitting a low growl as he looks from me to the spider, then to the bandit, and then to the locked door. His mouth contorts into a frown, and he idly twirls an arrow between his fingertips, contemplating just whether or not exploring this place is worth it. 

“Alright, let’s go.” He sighs. “My need for gold is higher than my common sense, it seems.”

“Good!”

...

“Ow, ow, ow ow.” Bishop comments, wiggling his arm.

“Careful, you big dummy! Quit moving!” I coax, wrapping my arms around his wrist. “Let me heal it!”

“I knew it was a bad idea to go in there! Really!”

“You say that, but we got so much loot!” I say happily. The dwarven post was stocked with gold bars and ingots, along with enough dwarven armor to keep us set for months. Not to mention the odds and ends in the dwarven spiders and spheres. I had collected quite a mass of soul gems, meaning I could enchant this armor. I’ve never been good at enchantments, never really had an eye for them, but I can do a few basic protections. With the gems and gold we found, I can also make some jewelry for us in Windhelm.

“I hate the falmer. If there’s one thing to make my skin crawl, it’s their smushed faces like they can’t understand a joke.” He sighs.

“I know, I know. The snow elves are a bit of a hassle.”

“We had to deal with them,  _ and  _ one of those centurions. At once. In a cave half filled with water. Which you were nearly a hundred feet from.”

“I can’t swim. What happens when I fall in, and you’re not around to fish me out?” I frown, genuinely worried. How have I made it this far anyway? Screw bringing me to Hermaeus Mora’s realm, Miraak could have just shoved me in a bit of water and watched me splash around for a bit before...I don’t know, doing whatever he does. Taking over the world and eating dragon souls or something.

“Then...you drown.” He figures. “Ladyship, I need to teach you how to swim.”

“Yeah. But I don’t see any ponds around, and we’re nearly to Windhelm.” I worm my way to his side, using him to block out the wind. “And remind me to get a decent cloak.”

“Will do.” He grunts, looking over to my cowering figure. “You’re cold?”

“By Oblivion man, are you not!?” I gasp.

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs. 

“What is wr-wrong with you!?”

“Cold is subjective!” He snorts. 

“Dear divines it’s bitter…” My teeth chatter. “The sun going down isn’t doing us any favors.” 

“We’re not even down the mountain, Princess. Deal with it for a bit longer.” He says, half chuckling. 

“My f-fingers are about to f-fall off…” I complain, pulling a resist frost potion out of my pack. I down it, shoving the phial into a pocket and pulling out a half of bread. Next I pull out a cheese wedge, slicing the bread in half and roughly stuffing the cheese inside. With a little bit of fire magic my grilled cheese is gooey and warm, heating up my insides happily.

“God dammit.” Bishop grins, eyes on me. “That’s a good idea.”

“Want one?” I pull out more bread, doing the same for him. In another minute both of us are chomping on piping hot sandwiches, steam filling the cold air around us. “Say, Bishop.”

“Yes?”

“How do you stand on this war?” 

“I don’t give a skeever’s ass, ladyship.”

“Mmm.” I mutter, taking another bite.

“Why?” He looks at me. “What, do you feel like you have some stake in that damn war!?”

“No.” I pause, letting him calm down. “But as Dragonborn, I’m going to have to make a choice...right?” I sigh. “I think what Ulfric is doing... his blatant racism for all other races but Nords is a blemish upon Skyrim. But at the same time, the Imperials yield so easily to the Thalmor… I can’t see that going all too well…”

“Then don’t choose!” He laughs out of frustration. “Let them kill each other, and watch from the sidelines. Then, once everything’s done, we can go and pick out their gold. Simple!”

“I c-can’t...feel right doing that.” I sigh, puffing out a cloud of mist. “I feel responsible for this war, somehow. Or at least...I feel I need to contribute, even a bit.” 

“I don’t.”

“Well th-that’s your choice.”

“No, I mean you don’t need to contribute.” His amber eyes flicker to my face, tracing their every feature. “Ladyship, you are the dragonborn. You waged war on the dragons. I don’t see anyone helping you out in that war. You don’t owe them anything.”

“Are you...going to help?” I look to his face. “I won’t blame you if you run.”

“Damn you to Oblivion woman, I don’t care about safety. I’m just trying to live an interesting life.” He takes a chunk out of his food. “Fighting dragons seems pretty damn interesting.”

“If you say so.” I laugh, handing the bottle of mead to him. “They’re all wing and claw. Let them out of your sight and they’re spitting fire at you, so hot it melts your armor to makes it cling to your skin.” I shiver. “And they just keep coming. One is fine; I can handle one at a time now. But if they gang up on you...”

“Lighten up, Ladyship.” He scoffs. “We’ll worry about that once we find one.”

“I guess so.” I sigh nervously. “How much farther, Ranger?” I blow warm air into my gauntlets, rubbing them together. It does little to ward away the cold in my fingers. 

“A ways.” He sighs. “Think we can set up camp?” 

“We can try…” I say, looking around. “Any caves nearby, anything?”

“Afraid not.” He shrugs. “Uttering Hills cave is long behind us.”

“Th-this sucks…” I curse, looking around. I see a sheltered area, right under a cliff face. It’ll have to do. “Over here.”

“Do we have any wood for a fire?” Bishop looks around. “I’ll get some. You get a fire going and set up camp.”

“How am I supposed to ma-make a fire while you’re ge-getting wood to make a fire!?” I ask, but he’s already retreated into the snow. It’s nearly hailing, the snowfall is coming down much heavier than before. I shiver down to my core; the past food is no longer doing much to warm myself. With the numbness in my hands, I can barely feel the soft furs as I pile them above my bedroll. Once they were stacked on, I can’t help but crawl inside to duck away from the cold. I wiggle around inside, trying to do my best to generate heat. As soon as I was getting toasty, I hear Bishop return with the firewood. 

“Dammit!” I curse, crawling part way out. No way, my legs are staying in there where they belong. 

“Hope you have a bit of magic, Ladyship. I couldn’t find anything dry.” He takes one look at me, rolling his eyes with a smirk. “You look like a slug.”

“I’ll take that if it means keeping warm.” I watch as he piles the wood into a cone, and with all my might I blast the logs with as much fire as I can manage. Finally, after I’ve nearly depleted my magic, it ignites and begins to blink with fire. “Thank the nine…” I sigh. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bishop grab his bed roll, and I fight an internal desire.

Personal space heater, or getting my own bed. Heat, or space? Heat and space? Space or Heat? Space heat. Space heater. Which he is. Get over here, Ranger.

“Come over here. I’m going to freeze even with the fire.” I motion to the bedroll, undoing the hooks on the sides to make it bigger. “Bring yours over, we can overlap to make one big one.”

“What, are you suggesting something?” Bishop grins, poking the fire with a twig.

“Yeah, I’m suggesting you get over here so I don’t freeze my ass off.” I huff, my cheeks slightly warming up. In the cold, he can’t see me blush. “You’re a free heat source, and I intend to use it.”

“Well, I definitely don’t want your ass to freeze off. I quite like it.” He grins even wider at my struggle. I want to reject him now; revoke the invitation. But I am  _ really  _ cold.

“Grope me and lose something.” I warn, still opening the flap to the bedroll. 

“Alright Ladyship...I’ll behave.” He walks over, wiping his hands off. “For tonight, at least.”

“Good enough.” I confirm, letting him drag over his sleeping roll and unbutton the sides to join it with mine. He clambers into the double roll, settling down beside me while using his arm as a pillow like some unnatural heathen. 

“That’s going to fall asleep, and when it does, you’ll be sorry.” I mutter.

“I’ll be fine.” He looks down to me buried under the covers. “You, on the other hand, might suffocate.”

“No!” I realize how stuffy it is, sliding up to about his shoulder level. “Maybe!” I immediately regret this decision as the frost nips at my nose again. I wrap my hands around my poor face, doing my best to forget about the cold and get some rest. First I tuck my face into my shirt, then my shirt around my face. Next is to try lying face down, and that didn’t work for obvious reasons. 

“For the love of…” Bishop mutters, and an arm wraps around my shoulders. He pulls me in closer to him, letting me tuck my face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Warm…” I say blissfully.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” He sighs.


	4. Blood on the Ice

“Ladyship…” Bishop calls to me, softly tapping my arm.

“Hmmmmmmmmmm?” I say sleepily, opening my eyes slowly. “Bishop?”

“Who else would it be?” He raises an eyebrow. “You sleep with a lot of guys?”

“No.” I roll back over, pressing my back into his chest and tucking my nose under the covers. “Just making sure you’re still there.”

“What, are you thinking I’m a figment of your highly stupid brain?”

“No, but now that you’ve said it, it certainly is a possibility.” I close my eyes again, willing myself back to sleep. 

“If I wasn’t real, could I do  _ this?”  _ He reaches down to my sides, tickling me under the covers. I squeal, wiggling myself around in the bedroll to try to get away from him. 

“Stoppit!” I urge, trying to catch his hands. “Stoppit! Ha! That tickles!”

“That’s what I’m doing, ladyship.” Bishop rolls his eyes. I move to kick him in the stomach to make him stop, but he senses the motion and catches my poor foot. “More fodder!” He chuckles, switching to tickling my toes. “That just made it worse for you.”

“Staaaaahppppp!” I spasm, pushing off his hand and bucking out of the bedroll. “Cold!” I exclaim, scrambling to my feet. “Agh!” I ignite the remnants of last night’s fire, clearing a spot in the snow and sticking my bare feet near the flames. 

“How have you been adventuring for this long and not been in the cold?” Bishop crouches to the fire next to me, tugging his armor over his tunic. 

“Because I used to have a cloak…” I shiver. “Dragon burned it off of me. I forgot to get one in Riverwood, and here we are.” 

“What if you cast a...flame cloak or something on yourself?” Bishop unhooked his bedroll, packing our things back up. 

“Then every time you got too close, you’d burn. And I’d be exhausted by the time we got to Windhelm.” I pull my boots to me, sticking them on my feet. I tug my armor on over my smallclothes, sighing as I recover the security the armor brings. I always feel so vulnerable without it. “Casting spells takes a lot out of me. I’m a bit of a failure of a Breton.” I grin.

“Doing well enough with the healing.” Bishop quips, watching me buckle my armor. “Ready to go, Ladyship?”

“I...think?” I look around. “Not to be paranoid, but does this kinda seem odd to you?”

“What seem odd, the armor? You look fine.” He stamps out the fire. 

“No...just today in general. It just feels wrong.” I look around. The snowstorm from last night had stopped, replacing the world with just fresh, open silence. A pale blue sky above us, although charming, made me feel more uneasy. 

“I don’t see why, today’s a good day for travelling. Let’s get going.” He takes me by the arm, tugging me in the direction of Windhelm. “Let’s go.”

“There’s a dragon nearby.” I snap, looking him in the eyes. “Not too close, but it’s around.”

He bit his lip, looking up at the skies. 

“Let’s get to Windhelm before he shows his ugly mug, then.” He says at last. 

“What if it attacks people?” I look up. “We gotta find it.”

“What is it going to attack around here!? All it can blast is some snow trolls and an odd pair of bandits who deserve their fate. Quit being so righteous; not everyone needs you!”

“But what if they do…” I whine, eventually following him down the mountain.

“Then too bad! The Dragonborn has more important things to do than protect the weak like some sort of world bodyguard.” He sighs. “I’m going to knock some sense into you if you try and run off, by the way.”

“I won’t, I won’t. I’ll be good.” I huff, pressing into his side for warmth.

…

“Finally! Walls!” I exclaim, running forward to the bridge. The stone pillars block the chilling wind from me, earning a sigh of relief. Bishop catches up with a scowl to the nearby guards, who took to eyeing me oddly. At our approach one says something to the gatekeeper and disappears into the city.

“They’re warning Ulfric.” He mutters, his eyes glaring at the cold walls of Windhelm. The icy winds whip at the torn flags up on the buttresses above the bridge walls, covering the city in a sinister cowl. You can feel the tension in the air; the Dragonborn has arrived, and whether or not she is friend or foe is yet to be seen.

“Jokes on them. All I’m here for is to collect some money.” I pause, looking to Bishop. “Hey. In all honesty, I’m not a very badass Dragonborn when I don’t need to be.”

“Correct.” He nods slightly, not breaking eye contact with the gate. 

“Well Bishop, this is one of those times when I need to be. So even if I spout straight bull, just go with it. Okay?”

“I don’t know Ladyship…” A grin appears on his face as he looks over to me.

“Bishop.” I say softly. Once he realizes the seriousness in my tone he nods, patting me on the back.

“As my lady commands.” He looks back to the gate, where the guard has reappeared. 

He-or she, rather, stands stoic at the gates, waiting for us to arrive.

“What, are you suddenly quarantined like Whiterun was?” I ask jokingly, narrowing my gaze. “I have business with the Jarl’s steward. Let me through.”

“And who are you?” She asks, searching my face.

“Rowan. The Dragonborn.” I glare at her with my frosted gaze, ensuring she opens the doors for us both. I walk inside, keeping my glare the same.

“That...is certainly a different face, Ladyship. Reminds me of when we first met.” He responds. “It gives even me the shakes.”

“Although I may seem like a push over to you, Bishop, I do speak with the authority of a dragon.” I sigh. “You may think otherwise, but I can still fight. Although you may see me struggle, It’s unlikely I’ll die. If I’m ever cornered I usually black out and find everything in ruins.” 

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises.”

“More like survival instinct.” I scoff. “It’s terrifying. If that ever happens, run. I don’t know if I’d hurt you or not.”

“Ladyship, are you a werewolf?” 

“No. I got possessed by a daedra once and haven’t been the same.” I scratch my neck, sensing the awkward topic. “It messed with my noggin a bit, if that makes any sense. The person I was with, some warrior hothead by the name of Benor, ran out on me halfway through. So when the thing got into my mind I was tired, injured, sleep-deprived, and most convenient of all, alone.”

“So a daedra got into your brain, and controlled you for a bit.” He raised an eyebrow, completely unbelieving.

“Yeah…” I pause, remembering the event. “I woke up once we reached the sunlight. I had been afflicted with vampirism at the time, so the pain snapped me out of it.”

“Princess, if that is an everyday occurrence, I sincerely pity your life.” He crossed his arms loosely as we walked, throwing murderous glances at the townsfolk.

“Well, it was pretty helpful, really. It’s saved me a few times.” I look up at the sky, still a pale blue without any clouds. “I don’t think he’s in me anymore; I got the Vigilants of Stendarr to clean me up, but on the bright side the blackouts help me not to die…”

“Isn’t that just neat.” He snorts. “And I’m a spriggan, did you know?”

“You really don’t believe me?”

“No. No I don’t.” Bishop states flatly. “Perhaps once I’ve seen some proof. Of both daedra and this instinct of yours...”

“You aren’t religious, are you?” I giggle. “That makes sense.”

“No! And what have the aedra or daedra ever done for me? Nothing! I’ve never seen them, heard them, or felt them. If you have any logic in that brain of yours, it means they’re not real.”

“Bishop, I’ve met several.” I scoff. “Mainly the daedric princes. Sheogorath, Azura, and Hermaeus Mora are the most recent.”

“And how do you intend to prove this?”

“Um….”

“Exactly.” He shakes his head. “That’s what they all say.”

“Will this convince you?” I bring out Azura’s star out of my pocket. It had certainly been a pain to fix. Kicking someone’s soul out of a soul gem is quite a task. I had been in a fire shoot out with Malen Varyn for at least six hours while I was trying to...evict him, in a sense. It still held its radiant light; after it had been cleansed its crystal still glows with a brightness of a dull torch, and no matter where I am it’s forever warm to the touch. In truth I actually tuck it between my bag and tunic as a poor man’s hand warmer, but I’m not telling Bishop that.

“Ladyship, did a daedra give this to you?” He turns it in his hands.

“Yup.” I nod, taking it back from him and tucking it back in my bag.

“Did you consume any sleeping tree sap before this exchange?” He says with false sweetness. 

“Oh bite me, no, I didn’t. Azura gave it to me for repairing it.”

“Not some khajit with a white face, or a drunk orc who had a crazy mage friend?”

“Bishop, I don’t care if you believe me.” I look at the incoming entrance of the Palace of the Kings. I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face before looking up, willing my steely-eyed gaze back to my countenance. ‘Fake it ‘till you make it’ would not be a misplaced saying for what I’m about to do...

…

“Well Ulfric, I see you’re still faring well.” My eyes gaze to the shaggy man sitting on the throne, his head propped up by his fist. His blond hair was smoothed back into a braid, falling onto the bearskin vest draped around his shoulders. As advertised, his nordic clothes and hunting boots make him the epitome of the race.

“The arrival of the Dragonborn,” He says, his voice carrying throughout the hall, “in these troubled times is a welcome sight. And to what do I owe this unexpected campaign?”

“I have business with your steward. I seem to remember there being a price on the bandit leader’s head in Ralbthar.” I pull out the simple silver necklace I found in her coinpurse, a family crest inscribed on the locket. “I intend to collect.”

“Yes.” Ulfric nodded slowly. “I’ve heard you’ve been roaming Skyrim. From the Silver-Blood family, no less.”

“Interesting. Tell them to keep their brown noses out of my business and put it back into being rich snobs where they belong.” I smile sweetly. “Cidhna mine would crumble if it wasn’t for their sheer arrogance holding it up!”

“I will speak no ill of the Silver Bloods.” Ulfric pauses, slightly taken aback by the ferocity in my tone. “But although you may not have business with me, I have business with you.”

“I’m assuming it’s of the state of this...civil war, is it not?”

“You catch on quickly, Dragonborn.” He pauses, glancing me over. I stand firmly planted, my legs shoulder-width apart, ready for any trouble. The various collection of Ulfric’s advisors and supporters litter the grand table in the middle, each eyeing me curiously as if I was a relic. Several brandish things larger than a dagger. I brush the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail back, tucking it behind my ear. I may hate this damned scar, but it does help to impress. “Do we, or do we not have your sword in the coming armed conflicts?”

I pause, mulling the question over. Bishop’s words echo through my head. He was right; this war wasn’t mine. I had other business to deal with. They can squabble all they wish, but in truth, deep down I know this country will forever stand the test of time, and a simple civil war can’t change that. The Talos statues will stay, and the presence of Imperials will never waver. Some blood will be shed, yes, but this nation won’t topple due to lack of my help.

“Well, Jarl.” I formulate the words. “I will not raise my bow for your cause. I wish to remain like Whiterun and keep neutral in the matter.“ The look of pure shock on the Jarl’s face was amazing. “That being said; if the imperials ever get some gigantic flying wyverns, send a courier. Then, and  _ only  _ then, will it be my fight. Until then, I will be protecting the people of this country, regardless of faction, from harm.”

With those last words, I turn and drag the stunned Bishop down the hall to our left, seeking out the Steward.

“Jorleif! Come out!” My call echoes down the cold, stone hallways. At my cry a man’s head pokes out of a doorway, cracking open the door. His stringy mustache is dewy with mead, and despite my self control I let out a slight sigh. Drunk.

“Huh? Yes! Dragonborn! To what do I ow-”

“I killed the bandits in Ralbthar and need my money.” I say before he can finish. 

“Oh, uh…” At his words I hold up the necklace.

“Here’s proof.” I finish. 

“...Alright, a hundred gold, then.” He disappears into his room, only to reappear and toss me a bag of coins. “There you are. Count it if you must, but I would never shortchange you.”

“I’ll take your word.” I bow shallowly, walking back down the hall. “Let’s get out of here, fast.” I mutter to Bishop.

…

“I just made a really powerful enemy, didn’t I?” I ask once we get outside. I begin walking towards the forges, ready to make some jewelry to enchant. 

“You did. But...I think he respects you a bit.” He looks to me, meeting my gaze. “I’d be more concerned by the slander to the Silver-Bloods.”

“He has direct contact with the family, I know.” I sigh. “But I’ll shout their name in a string of curses on top of the Throat of the World, really. I hate them to my very core. Bishop, I despise two things; traitors and the Silver Bloods. Oddly enough both have no respect for the beliefs of other people, and will do the unspeakable for a few septims.” Bishop shifts uncomfortably. I guess he’s sensing the sensitive topic.

“So where are we going?” He asks, looking to the black walls. “This place is a damn maze!”

“I agree.” I take him to the blacksmith, warming my hands on the forge. He’s gone, and the general rule in the country is leave it like you found it. That’s one thing I love; sharing is a common theme for many of the facilities in Skyrim. For some reason it’s quite touching, in a way.

“What are you going to forge?” Bishop asks, sitting on the wall and watching me with an unwavering gaze.

“Some jewelry with the gold we found. I can enchant it. If you’re insistent on traveling with me, I may as well make sure you’ve got the best I can give you.” I load the gold into the smelter, busying myself with pouring the gems into my palm. Two diamonds, a garnet, and a sapphire tumble out. 

“Pretty.” Bishop comments from the wall.

“I know.” I breathe. “The dwarves did a good job cutting them.”

“Wasn’t talking about the gems.” He crosses his legs. “But good try.”

“What?” I look up at him, suddenly realizing the gold has melted. I ready the ring molds, locking them over the forge, and pour the gold out of the smelter basin. I wait, letting the gold flow into every crevasse of the mold, and slowly cooling it down to where I can eventually let it chill in the open air. With a lockpick I scoop up the slag that has formed on top, leaving only a honied gold color inside. I take them out of the forge, setting them up on the anvil. 

“Shouldn’t take long to cool. It’s cold enough.” I comment, looking up. The dragon had gone; clouds had again begun to form on the sky. Crisis avoided.

I set to making the necklaces, popping more gold into the smelter. Every time I wander away from the forge, my skin begins to freeze again. I’ve still forgotten to buy a cloak.

“It’s not going to be done before tonight.” I say finally. “Bishop, can you go down to the merchant and buy me a cloak? I’ll give you extra money so you can buy mead afterwards.” 

“What supplies do we need?” He hops down from the wall, waiting in front of me. 

“Uh…” I look up at his rugged face, trying to remember the words. I eventually just close my eyes, knowing full well he’s grinning. “More food, definitely. The cloak, some salt for curing...there’s a potion shop here so I’ll go there in a bit...oh! Any books if he has them, especially if they pertain to conjuration. I already have  _ Liminal Bridges _ . And no restoration ones; I’ve read them all. Arrows, but I can always forge some...” 

“Why don’t I just  buy the entire shop?” Bishop takes the gold I present to him. “Sure sounds like I’m going to.”

“Sorry. I just always feel so unprepared for some reason…” I look back to the smelter, hauling the basin out of the opening. “‘Scuse me.”

“Be careful, Ladyship.” Bishop walks away in search of the grey quarter. “Who knows what’s lurking behind these walls.”

“Probably people.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Quit trying to be dramatic. If you hear an angry dragon voice and the sound of someone getting blasted into the wall, you’ll know there’s trouble.” I give him a grin, flashing my teeth. “Go now! And make sure you save some mead for me once you reach Candlehearth hall!”

“Will do.” He grumbles, wandering off.

…

Finally! Two diamond necklaces, and two rings; one silver and one garnet. I’ll enchant them with protections for us both. Resistance to poison and fire for bishop, and frost and poison resistance for me. I think the white phial probably has an enchanting table they’ll let me use, considering I’m probably about to empty a large portion of their shop. 

I walk into the store, making eye contact with the shop owner. Quintus Navale stands behind the counter with his back to me, busily grinding up ingredients in a mortar and pestle. I wait, surveying the shop before I get his attention. Like I expected, an arcane enchanter lit up with candles sits in the corner by the stairs, seemingly overcome with soul gem upon soul gem lining the outer rim. Alchemy is not all they work in, I suppose.

“Hello.” I call, waiting for him to turn around and address me.

“Oh? A customer!” Quintus says, looking me over. “So, uh, what can I do you for?” 

“All the hawk feathers you have, two bushels of elves ears, some dried canis root...oh! And a hawk’s egg!” I set my pouch of gold on the table, counting out the gold and pushing it across the table. “And is it okay if I use your potion station and arcane enchanter real quick? I have my own soul gems, don’t worry.”

“...Sure. These sure are a lot of ingredients.” He puts them on the table, watching me put them in my bag. “Are you very serious about alchemy?”

“I dabble occasionally.” I say, turning to the table first. In a few minutes I had what I came for. Two poison resistant amulets for us, plus the fire and ice resistances on the rings. Bishop’s shines with a fiery energy, ready to soak up any stray fire that may try and harm him. Mine, on the other hand, will hopefully help me stay a bit warmer in places like this. I throw the necklace over my head, screwing the ring on my right index finger. Perfect fit. If I sized Bishop’s finger correctly, his hopefully will fit snugly too. 

I stay at the alchemy lab for a few minutes, mixing my new ingredients together for some more regeneration potions, a few archery draughts, and a special waterbreathing vial. After the scare with Bishop and my revelation about water, I can never be too careful.

I exit the white phial, noticing the sun dipping below the walls, filling the entire city with shadowy shapes that sway with every breeze. Quite creepy, actually. Only once I look back down to the marketplace do I see the pair of glowing orange eyes to my right, staring at me hungrily.

“Ladyship…” He reaches out and grabs my forearm, sending shocks throughout my entire body.

“Gods Bishop! Don’t scare me like that!” I recoil, even going as far as to stoop over a bit to catch my breath. “What are you trying to do, kill my poor heart? I need that!”

“No, but I needed to find you. Someone’s been murdered, Ladyship. I talked to some people, and he exclusively goes after young women.” He jerks his thumb to the wall, which thankfully has enough light on it. ‘ _ Beware the Butcher _ ’ is printed in red lettering, along with info to contact Viola Giordano with any suspicious activity.

“So your response to that is to scare me half to death!?” I cry, stepping out into the torchlight. “Come on, show me where it happened.”

“Why? Let’s get out of here before he thinks your pretty face would look better in a frozen screaming position.” Bishop tugs my forearm in the direction of the gates. “Now isn’t the time to be stubborn!”

“How about we go catch the guy?” I propose. “Or gal, I don’t discriminate.”

“That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” He sighs.

“No really! Let’s catch the guy! I’m alright with playing detective.” I pause. “Oh right. Here’s your stuff. Stoop down a bit, you’re too tall.”

“What? Why?”  
“Just do it!” I insist. 

“Alright…” He gives in, dipping his head low enough to string the necklace over his head. “Poison resistance. I have one too; don’t feel guilty or anything. Oh, and here, give me your hand. I can’t see in the dark.” He bumps his fist into my forearm, letting me drop the ring into his open palm. Even in the dark you can see the pulsing fire enchantment; I did a good job! I pick the necklace off his chest, pressing it to my lips.

“For good luck.” I wink.

“Ladyship it’s like you’re proposing to me.”

“Yeah, proposing we should try and die less by using these.” I laugh. “Now where was that dead body?”

“I’m not going to help you if you get cornered by that guy and stabbed.” He huffs. “I’m going back to Candlehearth Hall. Find me when you get back.”

“Well, if I don’t come back after three days, make sure to send a letter saying nothing but ‘fuck you’ to the Silver-Bloods. I’d write it in a will, but I’m too lazy for that. And if anyone ever asks you how the Dragonborn died, the answer is always ‘like a badass’.” I head off towards the Hall of the Dead, relieved when I do reach the circle of torchlight. It is quite dark. I can almost feel the hesitation behind me as he watches me descend and reappear from the darkness; he’s worried. The soft patter of hide boots greets me as he snakes out from the dark, looking around warily. 

“For the record, I still don’t agree we should do this.”

“Well I do.” I jump down from the platform, seeing a crowd of people and guards around an object. Through the gaps of people I can see a hand, lying lifeless on the cold ground. So he wasn’t joking. “Poor gal.”

“Yeah. And this isn’t a big city, Ladyship. He could be watching your pretty little back and you’d never know.”

“Why, you the killer?” I snort. “You’re the only ones with eyes on me.”

“I’m definitely not the only one with eyes  _ for  _ you though.” He pauses. “I’m sure the killer would agree.”

“Let’s see what’s going on.” I choose to not decipher his previous comment. We walk up to the group, joining the outer edge and listening in.

 

_ “I saw a man run from the scene. Didn’t get a good look at him, though.”  _ Calixto says.

_ “I heard a scream, and when I came running, she was already like...this.” _ Silda the Unseen announces to the group.

_ “Shame. Third lass cut up.”  _ Another comments.

_ “Still got her coin purse too. Whoever did this wasn’t after money.” _

_ If us guards weren’t so busy with the war, perhaps we could put a stop to it…”  _ The guard mutters. _ “Poor Susanna.” _

 

“I can help.” I pipe up, tapping the guard on the shoulder. “Leave it to me.”

“Really? You would do that, outsider?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering.” 

“Go talk to Jorleif. You’ll need his blessing and he might be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Jorleif...right. Hey, is there a back way into the Palace of the Kings?”

…

“That was really weird.” Bishop comments, dusting spider webs off of his armor. “And...hairy.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Both.” 

“Where’d that old guy go..” I look down the hallway, slipping into his room. “Hey Jorleif we’re going to look into that murder and nothing is going to stop us.”

“There is no us! Only her!” Bishop exclaims from the doorway.

“Us.” I repeat. “I’m going to need you to say the words, please.”

“Say the words, please.” He says with a drunken burp.

“...Good enough!” I pull Bishop back down the hall, and back out into Windhelm.


	5. Just-ice

“So he said sure.” I say to the guard again, looking around. The body had been moved; supposedly inside the hall.

“Go...do whatever it is you think is best.” The guard walks off. “Start with Helgrid.”

“So much for authority.” I sigh. “Ready to go in the Hall?”

“A room full of socially dead people. You’ll fit right in.” He jokes. “I can’t stop you; go do your thing. I’ll be behind you.”

“I’ll take that.” I nod, opening the door into the Hall of the Dead.

…

“Helgrid? Hello?” I call, looking around. Preserved bodies are racked upon the bunks in the walls, probably waiting to be buried once the ground melts. I see Susanna lying upon a bench, with who I suppose to be Helgrid looking down with a puzzled look.

“Yes?” She calls back. “Do not disturb me!” I ignore that, as I usually do.

“I’m looking for the killer. Do you think there’s anything you can tell that’ll help?”

“Well…” She looks to the killed, pointing at the slashes on her chest and legs. “The cuts are really ragged, like a curved blade did it. Possibly like an embalming tool like I use, but that’s impossible.”

“So someone using the same tools as you?” I pause, thinking it over. I believe her; there are plenty of embalming tools in any old crypt you walk into. Just because they look the same doesn’t mean it was her tools specifically.

“Yes.” She sighs. “Now leave me be. I have work to do.”

“Thank you, and sorry for the intrusion.” I nod, leading us both out into the chilly air again. “Well, that wasn’t helpful. Anyone could have those tools.” I sigh, looking up the the torch on the wall. “There’s nothing to follow. We could try investigating some more people?”

“It’s really dark right here. Cast a candlelight?” Bishop asks. I do, casting the spell and looking around.

“Alright, there you go.”

“Hey, Ladyship. Is that blood from the original crime scene?” He points up to the raised part of the cemetery.

“No...it isn’t.” It’s only a few splatters, as if dripped from a knife. “He must have gone up here and…” I turn to my right, looking up the hallway into the row of houses. “Somewhere up there.”  
“So it’s a noble. Makes sense he wouldn’t need the coinpurse. That’s great.” Bishop mutters. “Then he can never get convicted!”

“It might not be.” I scramble up the stairway, looking to the ground. The drips continue; dying the leaves and stone a dark, murky crimson. Almost like rose petals. I follow the ground without looking ahead; bumping into the door of Hjeirim. The sound of me hitting the door echoes throughout the building; I suppose no one lives there.

“Princess.”

“We gotta go in there!” I say, bringing out a lockpick.

“Oh no you don’t.” He swipes them from my hands. “Tomorrow. I’m not letting you go in there when it’s night time. I don’t want to let you go in ever, but I know you’ll go anyway.”

“Oh come on.” I sigh.

“Ladyship, I already got us rooms.” 

“Fine!” I stamp back from the doorway, watching a guard come up the street and turn right before even reaching this house. “It’d make sense the killer would be there. Empty, supposedly haunted, and the guards don’t go far enough up the street.”

“Suppose so.” He watches the guard with me as we walk back.

“Hey Bishop,” I say, choosing my words.

“Yep?” He looks down to me, noticing I’m biting my lip. “Something on your mind?”

“What do nords wear when it’s cold?”

“Wha…”

“A stormcloak!” I giggle, and get promptly smacked in the back of the head. “Cold.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’d wish you take this seriously.” 

“I am! I’m thinking about who the culprit could be. Could be a vampire, looking for his necks victim.”

“I’m too angry to hit you again.”

“Excellent, but I’m out of puns.” I giggle as we walk up to Candlehearth Hall. 

“Yours is right next to mine.” He says, going into the last one. “Holler if you’re being smothered.”

“How do you yell if you’re being smothered. That completely defeats the purpose of smothering.” I roll my eyes, walking into my room. “Goodnight, Bishop.”

…

“Morning!” I stretch, sitting at the table. I idly chew on my bread and jam, kicking my feet up on the bench beside me. 

“You’re too happy.” He comments, sitting down. “Especially considering we’re solving a murder case.”

“I’m just happy to be doing something that doesn’t involve draugr...or forsworn...or dragons…” I close one eye, staring at him with the other. “I just wish I could have my own little patch of woods where I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

“Away from people?” Bishop asks, sipping from a tankard.

“Yeah. And lots of deer or bears to hunt.” I look up at the top of the inn, my gaze running along the curved ceiling. “Somewhere the couriers couldn’t find me. Maybe I’ll buy that patch of land in Falkreath; make a house.”

“And then that house gets raided by bandits, and the story of the Dragonborn ends.” Bishop scoffs. “I prefer to keep moving. Safer that way.”

“Yeah but where do I put all my cool dragonborn stuff?”

“You mean the stuff invisible, mute gods give you?”

“Yeah.” I glare at him from the side. “That stuff.”

“In your invisible bag, with your daedra instinct.”

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or what?” I stand up, straightening my pack. “Angry much?”

“No, didn’t sleep well.” He scratches his head, looking to me with a tired expression. “Bad dreams.”

“Oh.” I get up from the bench. “Go back and rest, then.”

“No, because you’re going to go into that house, and get yourself killed if I’m not there.” Bishop gets up from the bench, crossing his arms and comes to stand over me. “You’re going to pay for me being your bodyguard by the way.”

“I’m not asking you to do it!” I tap him in the square of his chest. “Go rest or something! I’ll be okay!”

“You say that like it’s comforting.” Bishop rolls his eyes. “I can handle a few spiders! Nearly falls to her death. I can handle the bandit leader! Gets knocked so hard I heard your joints cracked.”

“Hey, I’m still alive, aren’t I? And you only began traveling with me… a week ago? Week and a half? Two weeks?”

“Yeah. And by some insane long-time luck you’ve lived.”

“You know what they call that? Skill.” I move to walk out the inn, feeling him grab my wrist. “Yeees?”

“...Nevermind.” He lets go, following me out. We walk the streets of Windhelm again, noticing the blood on the crime scene is gone. Must have been cleaned up. The streets are quiet and the wind from the north brings an icy chill to the city that seems eerily quiet. I bundle up under my cloak, still thinking Bishop is crazy for not even needing so much as a jacket over his armor.

“Ladyship, you’re not wearing your armor.”

“Indeed.” I reply. “Gets heavy. It’s in my pack back at the inn.” I was just wearing my simple blue tunic and leather breeches, plus the cloak. I didn’t need to be pegged as suspicious, not with this stuff going on. We arrive at Hjeirim, with the door suspiciously looking as if it had been opened.

“Make sure no one is looking.” I instruct, watching Bishop lean against the gate nonchalantly. I take to picking the lock; it only has a few key pins. In a minute or so I click it open, admitting both of us inside.

…

“And...it’s empty.” Bishop sighs, either with disappointment or relief. I’m assuming it’s the second.

“Wait a minute.” I walk forward to a lone table, with an overturned bottle of mead and a tankard on it. “There’d be dust on this. There isn’t.”

“Whoop-de-do.” Bishop spots a chest to my left. “At least we can get something out of this break-in…” He sighs, lifting up the lid. “A book? Dammit!”

“What’s the title?”

“Dunno.” He tosses it to me. “You look. I’m taking this gold.”

“Alright…” I flip open the pages. “It’s a journal. Of the killer.”

“Convenient.” Bishop comments, none too pleased. “What’s it say?”

_ Last night was almost able to corner Susanna as she left Candlehearth. Idiot guards showed up at just the wrong moment and I had to turn about, just out for a stroll, and so forth. There will be other chances, but the time is drawing near. _

 

“Uh…” I look over the pages, searching for other info.

 

_ This flesh magic is older than us. Perhaps older than the world itself…..One more attempt at the Candlehearth girl. She's proving to be a bit too cautious, but those strong joints of hers should contain the most exquisite tendons. Worth the effort. Tonight. _

 

“Well that’s creepy.” I comment. “Let’s search the rest of the house.”

“Necromancer type guy.” Bishop ponders. “Nords are bad at magic. So it’s either one of the elves in the grey quarter or the Court Wizard.”

“Windhelm has a court wizard?” I think for a moment. “I guess there’d have to be…”

“You didn’t see his room because you were angrily trying to find Jorleif. I saw it and took a glance. Guy has creepy stuff everywhere.” Bishop pauses. “Probably him.”

“We shouldn’t accuse yet. Let’s look around a bit more.” I comment. “You check upstairs, I’ll check this room back here.”

“Alright.” Bishop climbs the stairs. I can hear his footsteps above me, sending a slight amount of dust to flake to the floor with each movement. This place is pretty old.

I walk into the back room, immediately seeing a dozen slips of paper on a dresser. I pick each one up, flipping them over. They’re all ‘Beware the Butcher’ posters that Viola made. Under the last I find a pendant; an oblong shaped skull on a green silhouette. Just touching it gives me chills.

There are still two wardrobes I haven’t opened. Why is this room the most furnished? I open the first wardrobe to my left, finding nothing but some fancy clothes and a bit of gold.

“Nothing up here!” Bishop calls, thumping down the stairs to my side again.

“Too bad.” I say, moving on to the next wardrobe. I open it up, immediately noticing it looks like one Delphine had back in Riverwood. Which had a false back… “Bishop, help me move this backing. It’s fake.” I look up to the slight groove at the top left, indicating the panel is a part of the wall.

“Okay…” He agrees, helping me slide it across until it opens a doorway to reveal…

“Bishop!?” I cry as his hand slaps across my face across my eyes. “I can’t see what’s there!”

“That’s the point, Princess.” He breathes. “You don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I kinda do.” I point out. “At least describe it to me!” 

“Dead body parts in a basket, mainly heads. Spines on the floor. Remnants of a body on the table, along with candles and...another book like the first.” He swings around me into the room so he can grab it without releasing his grip on my vision. “Nordic embalming tools, just like you thought.”

“What does the journal say?” 

“Hold on.” He pushes me out the wardrobe, pushing the doors shut and releasing his arm. To make sure I don’t dash in the room, he conveniently decides to lean on the door.

“Read it!” She urges. 

… 

**Bishop**

 

She wants me to read this...out loud? This is the stuff of nightmares.

_ 17 tendons and assorted _

_ ligaments _

_ 173 fragments of bone for _

_ assemblage _

_ approx. 4 bucket-fulls of _

_ blood (Nord preferred) _

_ 6 spoons of marrow (no more _

_ than 2 from a thigh) _

_ 12 yards of flesh (before _

_ cutting) _

 

_ star-scrying to the edge of the _

_ ice-mind _

_ look to the lights where the _

_ souls dance _

_ revealing the time when a _

_ spark will revive _

_ when the rotted united under _

_ most skillful hands _

 

I pause, flipping the page. Once I see what’s written there my heart sinks; flipping in my chest. I thought I was being over-paranoid, following her around. Seems like I was right. And ironically, this was the first time I wanted to be wrong.

 

_ Despite Susanna’s parts, I still need more. She yielded less materials than I thought. I still need more marrow, and more strong bone shards. Both continue to elude me. The first kill provided enough; I was sure three kills would give me plenty. However, this fourth should be perfect. At the Palace of the Kings they whisper of the newcomer being the dragonborn, the one of legend. She should provide perfect material for my Lucilla. Imagine-her new body being made from an actual dragonborn! Collection should be easier than expected. She lets her guard down when she’s among others. Only that steely-eyed ranger behind her stands in my way. Regardless, I have no need of her blood...keeping her body and flesh pretty is not a priority. A simple wormwood poison should suffice. One slice and she’ll perish, even with him by her side. _

 

“What’s the rest say!?” Rowan snaps me out of my nightmare with a slight tap; her touch sending bolts up my arm. “Oh come on! Don’t make me take the book, you baby!” I can’t tell her, can I? No. She’d go after the bastard even more feverishly like the fool she is. I should lie. I can’t act paranoid either; she’ll realize and know I read something. How do I fool her to not let her see the page? In a moment she’ll yank it down out of my hands. Time for some improv.

“I was looking to see if there was anything invisibly written there.” I go to flip the book around for her to see, conveniently flipping a page onto a blank one. “You see? It doesn’t feel like anything’s there.”

“Oh.” She says blankly, crestfallen. I can’t let her know. We need to get out of Windhelm as fast as we can, but of course she won’t hear it. I spent all of last night trying to figure out who it was, only to find more stale blood and possibly more smaller kills to this sick fuck’s name.

I can’t let her know. If she dies I’ll…

I’ll what? I was only traveling with her for a good laugh. She didn’t pay me any gold, I’m no hireling. I need to quit this mercenary mentality; I keep forgetting she’s not my issue. With that thought comes a wave of relief. I don’t have to worry about her; it won’t ruin my reputation as a mercenary. I’m not one anymore-I finished that life. I no longer prance around with that guy’s gang or sell my blade and wolf out for a few coins. I swear-next time I see that guy I’ll slice up his face with my name. 

Yet somehow I still feel a bit empty with that thought, like I just let go of something I needed. I’ll kill that feeling with mead.

….

**Rowan**

“So, are we going to go, or are you going to continue to stand here staring at me?” I tap him on the shoulder, unfreezing him yet again. “Tamriel to Bishop, move, dammit.”

“Alright alright, quit being pushy. You’re so eager to come in, yet not to go out?”

“I don’t know, I’m getting another bad feeling.”

“You have bad feelings all the time.” He quips. 

“Yeah, but there’s no way it’s a dragon this time!” I argue. “Let’s go take this information to the Court Wizard. It looks like it’ll be him, but there’s no way to know unless he can testify otherwise.”  
“No, we should take this straight to the steward and let him arrest the guy, then leave Windhelm.” Bishop taps his foot.

“I disagree.” I walk outside, opening the door for Bishop to come through. As he walks past the moving air ruffles my hair softly. I wait until he’s out before swinging out myself, slowly raising my hand to let the door close behind us. Before I can release my hold on the door, a second unnatural gust of air rustles my hair, spiking my heart. That wasn’t a draft...

“Bishop…” I call, making him turn around. There’s a growing burning sensation on my hip, and I feel like I’m about to vomit. My vision blurs, and a delayed sharp pain stabs me in the side. My hands snap to my hip, finding wetness on the area.

“Ladyship!” He runs over, helping me steady myself.

“Help me to the ground.” I say as he takes one of my arms over his shoulder and guides me to the ground near the short wall. I lean against the stone, raising my head in pain. My hip is on fire, and my very blood seems poisonous. What happened? I can’t move.

“You’ve been...cut? Like Susanna!” Bishop says, quite alarmed. 

“He was invisible. Brushed up against me last moment and slipped off before I could recognize him.” I cough, feeling my stomach jump. I take my necklace off my shoulders shakily, setting it over my side. I feel a ringing noise sound, lessening the pain and bringing back some sensation in my bones. My blood still feels absolutely toxic; everytime my heart pumps it feels more sluggish.

“I’ll go get that...that potion guy, or a mage, or…” 

“No use. I’d be dead by then.” I take my pack, rummaging through it. I can’t find it; with a troubled sigh and useless flail I give up. “The crimson bottle with a small golden stamp on it. I can’t find it myself.”

“Crimson bottle…” Bishop rummages through my pack. “How many potions do you have!?”

“Not enough.” I try to laugh, only finding it makes my situation worse.

“Here!” He finds it, pressing it into the palm of my hand. “Can you drink?”

“Yeah…” I raise the bottle to my lips, downing the whole thing. I feel the tension in my hip lessening, and slowly the paralysis loses its grip. I start to move my arms and legs, then my toes and fingers. 

“Don’t get up too fast.” Bishop warns as I try to get to my feet. I steady myself on the wall, finally able to look over and assess the damage on my hip. 

“Oh by the nine…” I look over to the horizontal slice across my midrift, from my spine to my belly button. This guy really wanted me dead. “It must of been him. It does look like Susanna’s wounds.” I study them closer, but in truth I’m way too afraid to poke it. “That’s going to hurt in the morning. Or a month.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Bishop sees the sweat start to form on my brow despite the cold.

“I think so.” I pause. “I wonder how he got the potion to go into effect that fast? What’d he use as a catalyst?” I reach down, swabbing some blood with my fingers. I rub it between my digits, watching it coagulate before my eyes. “He definitely used wandering spider poison from Morrowind. Stuff’s expensive. But how did he keep it fresh for so long? Do you think ice wraith teeth could keep it cold for the entire trip up here?” I look to Bishop, now wearing a vicious scowl. “What?”

“Stop caring about the poison, and more about the fact that you  _ were  _ poisoned.” Now that he knows I’m fine, it seems he’s put on his bad-natured attitude. “Let’s get out of here before you get yourself killed.”

“Then he’ll just kill someone else! I’m meant to do this, Bishop. Making a poison resistant pendant just to use it not a day later? Maybe Stendarr has forgiven me for that night in Riften.” I pant from the exertion of talking, gripping my knees for stability. No way I’m just going to go home. Er-away from here. “Bishop, if anyone else was on this, they’d be dead! I need to help these people!”

“No you don’t! What the hell?!” Bishop growls. “Think of yourself! Let’s just leave the city, and let them...I don’t know, resurrect some ancient race or summon a daedra. Serves them right, having a guard this lazy and no motivation to help themselves.”

“Who was that person on the flyer? Viola Gordan? Viola Giordano?” I nod. “I think that’s it.”

“Ladyship.” Bishop says again.

“Yes?” I look up to his face, towering above my own. His hair blocks out the sun, sending the rays to illuminate his head like a crown. Almost like...Kynareth. 

“If I’m going to be working for the good of all these people, risking my neck for no reason, I think you’re going to need to pay me.” He crosses his arms. “I’d say...500 gold is a fair price?”

“Nah.” I huff, my head still spinning. I think I'm going to be sick... “I don’t feel like giving my coin to a sellsword.” He flinches at the term, letting out a sigh once he’s recovered. “I’m not going to pay you. Get out.”

“We’re outside, Ladyship.”

“Out. Of the city.” I can’t think. I don’t want to deal with this. Five hundred gold? He was just a mercenary all this time, just like the rest. Whatever… They make me so angry… not giving a damn about who they decide to fight, changing the course of people’s lives without giving a skeever’s behind about it. Leave the squabbles to those who are passionate about the cause, and let Stendarr do his work. Tipping the scales of fate is just asking to be damned. I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want to deal with this now. 

“Whatever you say.” His expression doesn’t change as he turns, parting ways with me. Once he’s gone a fair ways I work my way up the wall, eventually making it to standing upright. I feel my head spin; all of a sudden I’ve dropped to the ground again. Damn it! I really want to know how he mixed a poison that strong! 

I try again, finding my way to my knees. I creep up the wall again, being sure to plant my feet outwards to keep my balance. I pause, reveling in my victory against my drunken equilibrium. Now, the question is...can I walk?  
One foot in front of the other, and I can walk. I’m in no fighting shape, but I can certainly totter alright. I make my way down the steps, pausing every few paces to lean against the wall. I have the pendant in hand, surveying the skull’s dips and scratches carefully. Viola Giordano...an imperial? I’ll find her.

…

Not long after leaving the house do I see an old imperial woman walking around, with crisp grey hair indicating her age. I do my best to walk normally, stopping her with a wave and running over. I pull out one of the posters, flipping it open and bringing it up to where she could read it.

“Are you...Viola?” 

“Yes!” 

“What can you tell me about the Butcher?” 

“I’ve been following him for months now...well, not really following, trying to find him. The guards won’t help...the people won’t help! I’m the only one who thinks he can be caught.”

“I found a journal where the killing was working out of.” I pull up the first leather-bound journal. “I don’t know the people-but you might.”

“What’s it say?” She eyes me suspiciously, with a glint of hope in her eye. 

“It sounds like a mage has been experimenting.” I say flatly, not going to twist my words. It really does-no normal person with no knowledge of magic could pull this off. Maybe Bishop was right, it has to be the court mage.

“Wuunferth. There have been rumors swirling about him for years. But he’s a dangerous man-I wouldn’t approach him directly. I would bring this information straight to the steward!”

“Huh.” I say. “And anything about this pendant?” I dangle it at my shoulder.

“Looks like a skull.” She scoffs. “You find that there too?”

“Yep.” I affirm.

“Get it checked out at Calixto’s place.” She points me in the direction it’s in. “That way. Big house next to the one going over the way.”  
“Alright, thanks.” I reply, hobbling off.

…

“Hello?” I think about his name for a moment. “Calixto?”

“Yes?” He asks. “Come in! Have you come to look at my curiosities.”

“Perhaps sometime I am feeling well...” I look around at the museum. Frost salts, vampire dust, nord embalming tools, scrolls, giant’s toes...he has everything in here. He looked so sad I nearly pitied him. “I’ve come to ask about something I found.” I hold up the amulet again, pleased he takes it from me. “Do you know what this is?”

“Ah, this is an interesting piece.” He pauses. “It’s given to court mages in Windhelm, you see the stone wheel pattern? I’m not sure what it means, I’ll have to do some research. It’s a pretty piece, but it’s only symbolic.” He mulls it over, flipping the amulet. “I’ll give you 500 gold for it.”

“Sold!” I agree, taking the bag of gold and jingling it in my hands. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Thank you, I always enjoy busying myself.” He gets up from his chair. “I apologize, but for now, Calixto’s House of Curiosities will be closing. Thank you.”

“Ah...alright.” I nod. I suppose he really likes the necklace. I exit, realizing that I’ve solved it. Wuunferth the Unliving is the culprit-all things point to him. Rumors of necromancy, the technical writing in the journal, the pendant, and who else would be able to get access to the empty house without raising suspicion? Not to mention mix up a poison that made my bones shiver. I’ll have to personally congratulate him for that one. I make a beeline to the Palace of the Kings, steeling my gaze in order to deal with a killer. I have no want to go through the corrupted system that Ulfric has; he’ll surely try to cover for his court mage, or deal with it quietly to not lose face.

I creep into the Palace’s quarters, sneaking down the hall. At the very end I can see part of an arcane enchanter sticking out, various potion ingredients scattered around the area. I suppose that’s where he is. I can’t convict him until he pleads guilty. He might be innocent, though. If I pull all my evidence and he feels cornered, he’ll surely attack. 

“Wuunferth?” I poke my head in the door, finding him reclining on a chair, a book in his lap. 

The guy is half asleep.

“Ha? Oh!” He wakes with a start, sitting up. He’s an old nord, clothed in torn mage robes. They’re much different from the clothes I’ve seen necromancers wear, usually a dull grey or black with the faint imprint of a skull-like image. They usually smell faintly like vampire dust and musty earth. He doesn’t fit the profile.

“Hello.” I stand in the doorway, the journal in hand. I narrow my gaze, cracking a small grin when I see it makes him uncomfortable. “Well, hello Wuunferth.”

“And...who are you?” He tries to keep his composure as I slip into the room, standing in front of him with an unreadable expression.

“Rowan the Dragonborn.” I reply, drawing attention to the journal. “I’ve been investigating the Butcher. All arrows point to you.” I drop the journal in his lap. “Who else is sophisticated enough to write this? And by the way, you left your pendant there.”

“...Journal? I’ve never kept a journal.” He opens it up. “What did that necklace look like?”

“Eight sided, jade, ebony on the sides. Looked a bit like a…”

“Skull? It was at some point. That, my pretentious friend, is the necromancer’s amulet.” He pauses. “And no, it’s not mine.”

“Calixto was wrong.”

“He and his books get confused occasionally. Happens to the best of us.” He thinks for a moment, setting his book aside. “But I do think I know when the Butcher will strike again. There’s a pattern. First on Mondas two months ago, then Tirdas a month back, and today is Middas, correct? He will strike tonight.”

“That’s way too convenient.” I sigh.  _ Damn you plot conveniency.  _ I mutter under my breath.

“Good for you. Patrol the Grey Quarter. He’ll strike tonight.”

“Will do.” I pause. “If I see nothing, you’re still suspicious, understand?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dragonborn. I’m too old for lifting a dagger anyway.”

…

It’s as cold as my ex’s heart out here.

The night has chilled Windhelm like an ungodly icebox, my only source of comfort coming from my cloak. Even then it can’t cover all of me. I walk around the streets without a light, passing through the grey quarter like instructed. Nothing so far, and I’ve reached the end already. I’m already to Calixto’s and haven’t seen a thing.

Wait a minute.

I run to the Market, finding the place empty. Good. Why would he strike in the Grey Quarter? There’s always people there. Why not the empty market, which people going home from the Hall have to pass through?

It’s still blood-free for the moment, and I intend to keep it that way. A few spells later, and I’m completely prepared for this. Come on, Butcher. I turn towards the stall, my back to the minimal light coming from the forge.

I take to looking up at the stars, trying to seem as fixated as I can. I can imitate a love-struck girl trying to stare at the stars away from people, right? I used to do it all the time, anyway.

“ _ What are you doing in the dark?”  _ I hear a hiss from beside my shoulder, a flash of silver raising above my head. Automatically I hear an arrow whistle through the air, landing in my attacker’s neck. He falls sideways onto the ground, passing with nothing more than a few whispers.

“Ladyship, if you don’t have a good reason for being alone at night in the darkest place in Windhelm, I’m going to shake you so hard the people here will think there’s an earthquake.” He strides over near me, about to get a bit too close.

“Not one step closer!” I warn.

“Oh come on, Ladyship. I wasn’t trying to be a mercenary, I needed you to send me away to catch this guy…” He stares at my back, watching me turn around. “I saved your life, and all you do is tell me to stay away?”

“Hah?” I ask, summoning a candlelight. “No, I’m not mad at you. But if you bust your ring after I’ve just made it, I will be.”

His gaze falls to the shiny ribbons of magic on the floor in intricate patterns. He doesn’t gasp, but I can see in his face he didn’t know they were there. Fire runes, neatly lined up in a crescent moon around me. Step on one of those and you’ll lose your bottom half. 

“Fire runes. They’ll disappear in a minute.” I conclude, finding my vision planted on Bishop. I narrow my gaze on him, making him shift his feet awkwardly. “Bishop, I’m not stupid. I had a plan. Even without you.” I see the runes disappear finally, and step over to the body on the ground. It’s Calixto, as dead as can be. A quick inspection yields the Necromancer’s amulet in his side pouch. I doubt he’d carry any of his ‘curiosities’ around. 

“So...can we leave now?”

“You’re travelling with me all of a sudden, then?”

“Hey, I only went away so this guy would come out of hiding. You just got to him before me.”

“Yeah, we can leave. Right now. In the dark. Without my stuff.” I cross my arms.

“You know, that sarcasm of yours is going to get you in trouble.” Bishop takes a step towards me, picking both of my wrists up in one of his hands, bringing them above me. He leans down into my personal space, just popping that bubble without hesitation. I gasp at the approach, trying to yank my hands down in vain. Bastard has the advantage, I can’t break his grip without yanking, and I know as soon as I do my hip is sending me to the ground. “I can only take so much abuse before I get angry, Princess. And you don’t want that.”

“Sorry, but sarcasm is my only way of dealing with people.” I shrug, pulling a pained expression at how it pulls at my hip. “Now let’s go back to the Candlehearth Hall. My side is killing me…” He looks down my side, exposed to the cold. I couldn’t cover it with anything; it stung too badly. It had begun to take on a reddish-pink tinge, which worries me. I can’t heal it with magic without risking trapping an infection or remnants of the poison into my skin. “Bishop...let me go…”

“Am I sure I want to do that?” He hisses, hoisting my wrists higher.

“You’re hurting me…” I grunt, tilting myself back which only stretches the skin farther. “Bishop! Let me go dress my side…”

“Yeah.” He drops my wrists, giving me use of my arms again. “You do that. We travel in the morning.”

“No, how about noon-thirty. Let’s waste half a day.”

“Remember what I said about anger, Ladyship.”

“I remember. Doesn’t mean I give a damn.”


	6. Things are not oak-kay

“Hey, I have money.” I comment.

“You...do.” Bishop looks to me, questioning. “And…?”

“And money can be exchanged for goods and services.”

“Go on…” 

“Like horses.” I nod. “Want a horse?”

“Sure. It’ll make this go much faster.” He nods. “Think they’re selling some at the stable?”

“Probably.” I reply as we both slip out the gates of Windhelm. I nod to the guards, adjusting my pack and fastening my armor all the way. 

“Where are we even going, Ladyship?” He asks, watching me pull out a letter. I keep getting these. Requests to kill a vampire, or a dragon, or find some artifact lost to the ages. This time, it was Pinemoon Cave, near Solitude. All the way across Skyrim. It’d take us a week, maybe more to just get to Solitude, not to mention if they got delayed. This was going to be a trip...

“Riften-I have a delivery to make, and then Solitude. Pinemoon Cave is infested with vampires, and I...we...need to take them out.” I sigh, walking up to the stablemaster. I hand him 2000 gold, cringing at the price, but relieved when I get handed two sets of reins. One was a blue roan-totally mine, by the way, and the other a dappled grey. 

“Dibs.” I say, jumping up onto the blue roan. “I dub thee Ashes.” Bishop follows suit, jumping up into the saddle and unpacking his things into the various bags. He rubs the horse’s neck, calming it down to adjust it to its new master. As for me, I think my horse and I understand each other. 

“What are you naming yours?”

“Gradient.” He says, nodding.

“We’re both not creative, you know that?”

“I accept that.” He looks to me. “You know how to ride?”

“Hm. I wonder.” I grin, taking off into a quick gallop down the road, headed towards Riften. Only a mile or so down the road and my blood runs cold. The cry of a dragon, and the crackling of a fire breath catches my eye from afar, a pillar of flames ascending from the sky. I urge a halt, glad Bishop wasn’t far behind. Both of us see the Blood Dragon hovering, its green wings beating rapidly as it assaults the local fauna. 

“Bishop, take the horses, and go somewhere a good distance away.

“Or, not.” He says, sliding out of the saddle. “Come on, let’s go get him.”

“No...Bishop…”

“Ladyship this is why I’m here. Sport.” He grins, taking the reigns of Gradient and Ashes to the nearby signpost. He ties them to it, whispering softly to the horses with a quick pat on the head. “Let’s go.”

“I’m going to be angry if you get hurt.” I hop off the saddle, taking my hand and cupping his jaw, turning his head towards me. “It’d be a shame if that face of yours got any more ragged.”

“Well, are you saying I’m handsome?”

“Perhaps; doesn’t mean much though.” I pull my bow off my back, nocking an arrow. “Ready to go?”

“Always.” He grins, accepting another marksman potion from me. 

“Here’s a few healing, and a restoration.” I shove all the bottles at him, straightening the fold on his armor. “Make sure you drink them.” I adjust his shoulder belt, pulling his tunic free from winding itself in his armor.

“Are you going to tell me not to forget my lunch too, or are you done?”

“I’m done. Let’s go.” We run forward, watching the dragon snake towards us. All at once its vision locks on to my figure; the dreaded Dovahkiin is in front of him, the Dovah. Above us, just out of arrow range, the dragon hovers in quiet observation. 

_ “Drem Yol Lok.”  _ The dragon greets. I bow in response, looking up.

“If you wish to keep peace, leave. If you plan on attacking villages, then fight me first!”

“I do not plan on either,  _ Dovah _ , I plan on challenging you.” The dragon formed its words slowly as if assuming me dumb. “I plan to  _ Du _ , Devour, your soul. You think you are the only one to gain power from slaying Dovah?”

“Rude.” I scoff. “So it’s settled.”

“Indeed.” The dragon sighs, hurling a fireball in our direction. 

“And we’re off!” I cry, shoving Bishop roughly to the side. I pop the cork on my potion of conjuration and marksmanship, downing them as quickly as I can. The dragon swoops down low to us, setting the ground aflame and melting all the nearby snow. I wrench a potion of fire resistance from my pocket, waving my arm frantically to catch Bishop’s attention. Once I do, I throw it over, glad he catches it alright.

“Forgot one!” I call, drinking one myself. My hand instinctively grabs my bow, following the dragon as best as I can in the air. I fire off a few shots, only hitting one or two. They barely injure the dragon at all; it must feel like being stabbed slightly by a toothpick. 

It belches a few more fireballs, seemingly as frustrated as I am with the damage we’re dealing. None of them hit anywhere close to where we are; the winds are too strong and the snow lessens the area they singe.

“I can’t even hit the damn bastard.” Bishop says once we get close to one another.

“We’re both struggling because of the wind.” I reply, yanking my cloak back down. “This one’s small fry, we should be able to kill it once it lands. I’ll distract it, you cut it’s wings and we’ll finish it off.”

And yet it refuses to land. It swoops closer and closer, incinerating any arrows we throw at it and instead just hurling a volley of hellfire at us. Bishop and I are pinned down between a few set of boulders we can hide behind, both quite annoyed at the situation. Every time it approaches, it’s lower, closer, and with more fire, but never touching the ground.

“Man, this fight is just going to  _ drag on _ !”

“You did NOT just make a pun.”

“Fuck off I’m stress punning!” I think for a moment. “I’m going to shout and clear the wind, but once I do, I can’t shout again for a while. Ready?”

“Go for it.” He knocks an arrow, ready to pop over the boulder.

“LOK VAH KOOR!” I echo into the sky, glad the winds die down and the clouds clear out. If I was a weatherman, I’d never be wrong.

“Got him!” Bishop punches through the dragon’s left wing, sending it plummeting to the ground.

“Nice shot!” I hurdle over the boulder in front of the dragon, summoning a flame atronach and hurling as many arrows as I can into its snout. It rears its head back towards the sky, and right when I think its health is waning, brings it back down with a slam of its tail and a column of flame. Directly in my face.

My ward barely makes it. I deployed it at the very instant the fire would have hit, not even giving it proper time to expand. My forearms and shoulders are burned, but it could be worse; there are more important bits of me I have a duty to protect. As soon as it gets tired and stops its onslaught of flame, I drop the ward and join Bishop in shooting the thing.

Now for the most intense game of red light, green light the world has ever seen. During its dips when regenerating magic, I drop my ward and try to get closer to the beast. It takes to flaming me down, and so on. Eventually I’m close enough where I can feel its breath bouncing off my ward, dangerously in range of its jaws. Bishop is off to the side, wondering what in Oblivion I’m planning. With my swords in hand, it’s time to prove I’m the dragonborn. 

It swings its neck sideways, intending to sweep me up into its jaws. Too easy. I grab a horn, flinging myself onto its neck and plunging my sword into its neck and wrenching it left and right. The dragon bellows sadly, dropping to the ground in desperation and flapping its wings slightly, before dropping dead. I slide down its shoulder before its skin flakes, staring into the flames intently. 

I wonder what this one’s going to tell me?

It roamed over the cold wasteland between Windhelm and Winterhold. The ice is strangely beautiful from above, rippling under me like ocean waves. The wind howls, and a group of sabre cats run below me. The pale sunlight glints over my back, warming my blood even through the chill. I find the ocean, dipping low, nearly skimming the surface as I watch the fish underneath the water wriggle. I breathe fire into the water, using the updraft from the steam to rise back into the air, turning back towards land and gaining full sight of the icy tundra.

Swirling frost, dancing in whirlwinds, play on an open bed of white blanketed snow. The icebergs crack and crumble, reflecting the light in multi-colored waves. Patches of snowberry bushes dot the mountainside red, the only color present. It was beautiful.

“Ladyship?” Bishop calls me out of the memory, one hand on my shoulder and another on the back of my neck. I flinch at the touch, ducking out of his grasp and actually closer to him. 

“Sorry, can’t stand anything touching my neck.” I shiver, pressing into him. “Where’d my cloak go?”

“Ground by your foot.” He points out. “What happened to you?”

“Ate a dragon soul, saw its last memory.” I shrug. “Dragon knowledge and such.”

“Well, I’d make a joke about your eating habits, but it’s too easy.” He picks up my cloak, setting it on my shoulders with a grin. His hands avoid my neck this time. “Just wanted to let you know I could do it, though.” 

“Good to know.” I look to the skeleton. “Wonder how many bones we can take…”

…

“I actually quite like Riften.” Bishop says as we walk through the gates nearly a week later. “I know some pretty good spots around here to..”

“Yeah yeah, that’s nice and all Bishop but…” I tie my coin purse tighter to my belt, scanning the crowds. “I got a delivery.” 

“Way to interrupt me, Princess.” He rolls his eyes. “Where are we off to?”

“Elgrim’s Elixirs.” I pull out a cloth bag full of luna moth wings pressed in paper, dried nirnroot, and a few wisp wrappings I’ve found. “I have some rare ingredients to deliver. We had an arrangement.”

“Arrangement.” Bishop scoffs. “You should stop doing that with people. It’s better not to have ties.” Bishop comments as we pass by the Bunkhouse. I approach the railing to go under the docks when a fellow Breton approaches with dark hair out of the shadows. Before I can discern him in the dark, there’s already a dagger pressed against my back. 

“Alright, now hand over all your gold and...oh Gods, why did it have to be you?” The man in ebony armor asks, finally seeing my face in the light. “The most beautiful goddess in all of Skyrim?” 

“What?” I raise an eyebrow. That one’s definitely not true. I’m the troll at the dog show. “Look, we’re just passing through. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Give me all your gold!”

“Or, you can let us pass.”

“No-no, I cannot let you pass, no matter how beautiful you are.” 

“I mean, I think you can.” He seemed to think it over.

“I will take a kiss as payment. And I will bother you no more.” I hear Bishop growl in the background, displeased at the notion. Fuck it, I really don’t care as long as it’ll get him out of the way. The riften guard are pretty displeased at the thieve’s guild coming back to life, so they’d love to quite literally deck me on the docks and haul my dragon buns to jail for assault.

“My greed for gold is the only thing making me do this.” I lean forward towards him, surprised at how he pushes into me first. He nibbles my lip briefly before pressing his mouth into mine, firmly grasping my back as to not let me run away. 

We both pull away, me out of pure shock and him with a sly grin. He doesn’t seem to notice a very angry Bishop behind me, biting his lip so far I feared he’d pierce flesh.

“Another.” He said breathlessly, pushing back into me. He didn’t stop until both of us were breathless, finally letting go of his grip on me. I stumble back into Bishop, my head swirling. Talk about oxygen deprivation… what a bastard… Would it be worth it to deck him? How much would the fine be?

“Well Dragonborn, I will see you later. I’d never pass up another chance to rob you.” He says, retreating into the shadows and leaving me semi-stunned.

“Did that just happen?” I ask, turning to Bishop.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Though I was having a dream and/or drunk.” Bishop confirms.

“Who was that guy?”

“Raven, I think his name was.” Bishop seemed to know him. “But why the hell would you agree to kiss him!?”

“I’m greedy and like gold?” I jingle my coin purse.

“You could have clocked him!”

“Yeah, then have to go through a bunch of stuff with the guards, possibly get a bounty, blah blah blah…” I shrug. “They don’t like me here as is, last I need is to get locked up.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“The Silver-Bloods and Black-Briars are good friends.” I sigh. 

“Still doesn’t give you an excuse to just kiss everyone!”

“I’m not though.” I defend. “Besides, it was definitely not a bad kiss.”

“Wench.” He calls.

“No kisses for you, then. Gotta avoid being a wench.” I qiup, walking into Elgrim’s Elixirs, package in hand.

…

“I mean seriously, you just let him kiss you! Who does that!?” Bishop lectures as we walk into the Bee and Barb, watching me plonk some gold onto the counter with those judging eyes of his. Honestly the affection of the kiss felt nice; it had been so long since I left home in Markarth. Away from my comfy life with Apolinus, forging by day and looking at the stars with him by night, both sipping on juniper mead and trying our best to catch lightning bugs. We didn’t really catch that many, but the effort was always comical for the other. 

“It just happened. Calm down.” I look to Talen-Jei, purchasing some mead bottles and rooms for the night. It’d be nice to sleep away from this fool for once, and do it properly drunk.

“Buy your own mead.” I say coldly, sitting down at the table. He does as told, entering the chair across from me with a sigh.

“What happened to Karnwyr?” I ask finally, actually out of genuine concern. “We lost him right before we got to Riften.

“We’ll meet up with him in the morning.” Bishop says. “He doesn’t like being in these walls, same as me.” 

“Yeah, really makes you feel anxious, right?” I sit back, uncorking the bottle. “I feel safer outside with my armor than in these walls. Ironic, really.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Bishop copies me, drinking mead as if it was water. Both of us were looking forward to this, it seems. 

A loud conversation from in front of me draws my attention to a man in hooded robes and a drunken man. In the corner of the tavern is Maramal, the head Priest from the Temple of Mara. I know the man due to Apolinus and I’s wedding plans, which we put some considerable money into. 

“Hold on.” I get up out of my chair, well aware Bishop is curious on what I’m doing. I feel his eyes on me; it hasn’t left my figure for what seems like days. Whether he’s sizing me up or simply just ‘observing’ the Dragonborn I don’t know, but I don’t mind his gaze. 

Over the last two weeks, I’ve grown to trust him, despite his apparent brazeness. He did watch my back and look out for me back in Windhelm, and fighting a dragon barely fazed him. His actions have been slowly dispelling my fears of a companion; each night I drift a bit closer to entrusting my faith in him. Sitting around the fire, each of us carrying out our duties before going to sleep, really tends to make you look at a person differently. They’re more...natural. Casual. They let you see them defenseless, and although he’s wary, he’s not suspicious of me at all once things calm down. The heat of battle is left behind, leaving time to chat. I’ve never been able to worm anything from him at all, but that’s never stopped me from trying.

Perhaps I’m beginning to heal; to get over my fear of having people with me. 

“Maramal.” I prompt, catching his attention. I lean against the table he’s next to, looking to the bag at his hip. 

“Ah! Child!” He realizes I’m alone. “The marriage...will not be happening?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” I dip my head, bringing out my gold pouch and dumping out some coins. “Regardless, I’d still like an amulet. I may not look it, but restoration is one of the few things I have a knack for.”

“Certainly. And may Mara shine upon you. I wish you luck in love; the divines know you deserve it.” He hands me an Amulet of Mara, its golden sheen nostalgic. I wore one some years back once I came of age...not for very long, mind you. Apolinus immediately bought one and tried to play it off as a coincidence. He made a big deal out of it too, always tugging me places and making sure everyone knew I was taken. He, Apolinus Torbik, was to marry Rowan; he would be the one to have me. It was quite cute, how he rubbed it in everyone’s faces, making sure every man I had ever interacted with knew. I was the happiest I could ever have been back then.

We forged each other’s wedding ring using silver and a gemstone of our choosing. I chose a deep green emerald for him that reminded me of the plains surrounding Markarth with its color, and he chose a light sapphire to match my eyes. They were beautiful; I wore it proudly on my ring finger, every day admiring how much time he spent on the piece. I’m sure I still have mine somewhere. Despite what happened between us, the tragedy that struck, I can’t bear to throw away what he slaved days to make. It’d be like disrespecting him outright, and even now I can’t do that.

Oh how badly that love had ended. His angry face, scrunched in rage, brandishing a dwarven dagger I had given him. Calling me a liar, a cheat. If I was ready to scam the Silver-Bloods, how did he not know I was cheating? Perhaps giving the money to a secret lover I planned to run off with. Ripping off the ring I forged for him and throwing it to the street below us, shouting accusations faster than I could dispel them. Gathering everyone in town to his aid just to witness me dashing out the front gates, quivering in both fear and rage. 

“Ladyship.” Bishop snaps me out of my daydream. “You’re frowning quite intensely. If you don’t be careful, your face might freeze like that.”

“Well, it’d certainly be more useful than my smiling face.” I lean back in my chair, pressing a bottle to my lips.

“Why’d you buy an amulet? Planning on running off and getting married to anyone with a bit of coin?” He grins. If anyone but him said it, I’d throw them out of the bar. Him and his joking demeanor are alright.

“Doesn’t work for me anymore. I just have more coin than the cove, and then he gets jealous.” I pause, looking to his face. His eyes, again, stare intensely to my core. I shiver despite the warmth, breathing out a heavy sigh. “I figured it’s good to have an amulet for restoration. I’ll tie it to my pack of potions for when I need it.” I do just that, looping the amulet through itself and dangling it from the belt. Better safe than sorry.

“Ah, the drawbacks of being a successful dragonborn!” Bishop says sarcastically. “Every Jarl licking your boots, and more coin than a skooma smuggling ring!”

“That’s not true.” I chuckle. “Not  _ every  _ Jarl craves my attention.” 

“Balgruuf, Ulfric, Ravencrone...even that Sidgeir guy from Falkreath personally sent you a letter!” He takes the note out of his pocket, reading it out loud. My face blushes crimson; I never realized he stole my bag!

 

_ Dear Dragonborn, I sincerely wish for you to protect my pale behind because I can barely raise a dagger in my name. Do this correctly and I shall make you Thane.  _

 

_ P.S. Pretty Please. _

 

_ Siddgeir. _

 

“That’s not what it says at all!” I scoff.

“That’s the gist.” He defends, holding the letter up, waiting for me to snatch it back. I try, huffing testily when he just hoists it higher. I get up from my chair, tipping his chair back and staring into his eyes. I take the paper from him, pausing for a few seconds just to establish dominance-

The fucker kissed my nose!

“Got you, Rowan.” He purrs as I drop him back to four-legged stability. I stand starstruck, blinking furiously.

“Stoppit! Stop stealing stuff out of my pack!” I sit back down, raising my bottle to hide the blushing. What’s with this affection all of a sudden?

“No. The look on your face was so hilarious, I’d like to see it again sometime.” He still grins as he eats, forever pleased with himself. “The Princess of Ice only blushes when someone shows her affection, eh? Interesting. Of everything, she gets embarrassed like a girl half her age seeing someone kiss in public.”

“Shut up.” I hide my face. “Don’t do that again!”

“I don’t do orders, Princess.” He props his head up on his arm. “Like Karnwyr, I just look like I understand and then do what I feel. It’s a good system. Besides, you, finally out of your comfort zone from a bit of a peck? I feel like I’ve accomplished something.”

“DearDivinesPleaseShutUpBishop.” I pray quickly.

“You didn’t get red at all when that Bastard kissed you.” He grinned. “I think your body’s saying I’m a bit more enticing.”

“Hey, It’s not like I haven’t...you know, kissed before.” I huff. “Now shut up. We have more important things to talk about. Like how we want to get to Solitude.” I pull out the map, laying it out and tracing the paths with my finger. “I think we should pass through Whiterun. Or, I guess plan B is through Morthal. I don’t want to just make it a straight shot.”

“How about we take the Southern passage, the one around the Throat of the World?”

“That would take us through Markarth. No way in Oblivion.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands. “Just thinking it’d be easier.”

“Don’t care.”

“We could always skip going in Markarth.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near that place.” I sigh. “Let’s just pass through Whiterun. I can’t imagine dealing with more cold this soon.”

“As my lady commands.” He grins deviously with his new knowledge of my weaknesses. I’ll make him pay, I swear it.

...

It’s been a week, and I still haven’t properly gotten my revenge. Every single time I’ve tried to mess with Bishop, he immediately retaliates and gets me back every. Single. Time. I try to push him into the lake we stopped at, he grabs my wrist and pulls me towards him with a grin, a firm hand on my waist and not letting me go until I’m properly flustered. 

The second time, I try and put snowberries in his hand and rub his nose, and he blinks awake as soon as I crouch near him, yanking me down on top of him and flipping me over. He takes one look at the snowberries and laughs, a genuine chuckle that made even me laugh too. He had a nice voice, and his laugh ranks high to my favorite sounds. 

“Keep trying, Princess.” He said to me, eye. “You’ll get it eventually.”

I swear Karnwyr is his lookout.

The final time, a few days ago, we stopped at a river to bathe. We each took to separate sides, and I was sure to finish early and sneak over to his side. I stole his clothes with a victorious grin. To hear him flustered, calling out for someone to bring him something, would be glorious. 

He ended up just walking back to camp as is, picking up his clothes from his bedroll and acting as if nothing happened. In his full glory, in the nude, walking up and laughing when I covered my eyes and stuffed myself into my bedroll.

“What are you thinking about?” He snaps me out of my thoughts. Our horses were riding parallel to each other, something the two enjoy doing. Ever since he began adventuring with me, I’ve had less time to think. Which, perhaps, is a good change.

“Where we’re going.” I stretch in the saddle, leaning back and stretching my legs forward. We’ve been riding for a while now, the sun is dipping under the sun. We’re just past Dragon Bridge, and are pretty close to Pinemoon cave. We can make camp and go inside in mid-morning when the vampires are weakest. “I try and avoid the west side of Skyrim. Nothing but trouble.”

“I used to hunt here all the time. Only place I don’t like in Skyrim is the Morthal swamps. Those chaurus are a pain to deal with.” He looks up to the sky, then back at me, deciding something.

“Where do you think we should camp?” I look down to Karnwyr, who's joined us again. “Did you finally leave the bunnies alone?”

“There’s a pond nearby I like. Clearpine Pond.”  

“Pond?”

“I’m going to teach you to swim, Ladyship.”

“Uh…” I pause. “I don’t really think it’s a good time, you know, with all the vampires...and um...bears…”

“Ladyship.” He says firmly. “You need to know how to swim.”

“But why…” I say, squirming in my saddle. “I really don’t like water. I could always...I don’t know, carry a bunch of water breathing potions on me!”

“Yeah, and sit at the bottom of the lake until it runs out and you drown.” He rolls his eyes. “Quit being stubborn, it’s decided.”

“Nooooo….” I say weakly as my horse leads me to my watery fate.

…

Clearpine pond is an ‘o’ shaped lake with a small island in the middle. It’s a peaceful sort of place, with the water slowly brushing up against the bank, and a pair of foxes chasing each other playfully on the shore opposite of us. Butterflies loop in and out of each other on the island, landing on the fallen log when they’re tired, unaware of the plight of anything around them. I drop my pack on the bank; despite the serene nature of this place, it makes a knot in my stomach.

“Bishop, I really don’t want to do this.”

“Oh come on. Perhaps I’ll reward you for your effort.” He says ominously.

“Bishop…”

“Everyone has to learn sometime, Ladyship.” He says deviously. “Now strip off that armor if you don’t want to nearly drown again.”

“Saying that just made it worse!” I protest, yet still obey. My fingers unbuckle the straps on my armor, letting it fall to the soft earth. Even though I resist, my eyes drift to Bishop, who tugged off his armor and tunic, his chest finally exposed to the air. The hardened muscle he has chiseled on to him draws my attention, and nothing I can do can stop me from staring. He heaves a sigh of relief, looking up at the clouds. I’m mesmerized. I’m trying my best to look away, say something snooty...anything but stare.

“Like what you see, Ladyship?” He catches my gaze, turning to face me.

“Yeah. Good thing I’m not looking at your face.”  _ Nailed it. _

“Right. You stare at that enough, don’t you? Perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you touch.” He scoffs as my face heats up, coupled with my unchanging expression. “Ladyship, your face says you don’t care, but the  _ shade  _ of your face…”

“Quiet.” I say, taking off my tunic and breeches to reveal my smallclothes. His hungry eyes wander across every part of my body, drinking my figure in. I move to cover myself up, but before I can his hand brushes mine away from myself, pulling me into the water. “Now who’s the one staring?” I quip.

“I think you’ve been alone for too long, Ladyship.” He says quietly, letting me sit on the bank. I dip my feet into the cool water, pleased at its touch. “Getting so red without even being fully naked, just because there’s an actual real life man here...”

“It’s been a while, okay!?” I think back to when Apolinus and I did the same thing; him trying to tempt me out into the water unsuccessfully, eventually just giving up and attacking my lips in retribution.

“What, since you and that fiance of yours have done it?” He raises an eyebrow, pleased at 

how my face becomes a deeper shade red.  

“He never...we never…” I try to keep my cool, eventually just flopping over into the sand and laying there, face down. “Not...anything major.” I say finally. A look of contentment, or perhaps delight. I can never tell with him.

“Come now, Ladyship.” He tugs me to my feet, slowly coaxing me towards the water. “I won’t let go, just come here.” I sit in his hold, pressed against his chest as he brings me out into the water. The warmth coming from his sun-kissed skin is comforting, calming my heart. 

“I swear if you…” I think of a threat, but the water is already past my chest. I wait for my body to panic, but the waves of mayhem never come to my brain. Bishop holds my waist in one of his arms, not letting me sink beneath the water as he holds me close to him. He leads me into the deeper part of the lake, aware of how my body tenses up at the contact. My discomfort only makes him hold me gentler, not forcing but still being supportive. 

“It’s not that deep here,” He says. “Just push off with your feet if you start to sink.” I nod, understanding. All at once I feel something swim past my legs, sending me into panic mode. Bishop holds me tight as promised, wondering what’s happened. “Slaughterfish?”

Karnwyr’s big, soggy head pops out of the water, grinning like dogs do. He’s clueless about what he just did; but whatever it was he’s happy to be here. He swims up and nuzzles me, pushing his even wetter nose into my cheek. 

“Divines, Karnwyr, you frightened me.” I rub his ears, calmed again. “Alright, so...how do I swim?”

“First off, don’t panic. You’ll just sink. Flip onto your stomach, paddle with your arms, and kick with your feet.” He replies, tucking the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail to behind my ear.

Almost as if on cue, Karnwyr paddles past me, using his tail as a rudder. I laugh, the tension of the situation gone. The water feels nice, and the hold Bishop has on me feels...a bit nicer. The wolf, as if sensing the private moment, swims to the bank and runs off again. Stupid canine, it was less awkward with you here!

“Ladyship, why are you getting red again?” He looks to my face, gaining a sly smile in realization. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Let me go…” I say, keeping my heart in check as I feel his grip on me fall away. He swims to the island in the middle, sitting on shore and crossing his legs.

“See if you can get to me.” He says, patting his legs. “I won’t let you go under, I promise.”

“Alright lifeguard.” I sigh. “I...trust you.” I blink at the odd word. I just said that, didn’t I? He too looks a bit bewildered by the word, but recovers quickly with a genuine smirk on his lips. As I begin to sink, I feel the panic rise. My feet instinctively try and touch bottom, and my small stature finds nothing but water.

I can do this. 

I take a deep breath, and just let my body go. Surprisingly, I don’t sink like a rock as I figured. My eyes squeeze shut as I go below the water momentarily, willing my heart to shut out the fear I’ve had since I was a kid. The many times I’ve nearly drown, the things that have grabbed me from under the guise of the depths...I push them to the back of my mind and focus on my movements. I push off with my feet gently, finding that my open hands make good guides to where I want to go.

Thankfully against everything I feared I resurface.  I gracefully bob underneath the surface, and per Bishop’s advice, start to kick with my feet. I gracefully propel myself through, using my arms to paddle and guide myself. After a few seconds my feet hit land, and I wipe the water from my eyes and shake it from my ears. 

“Bishop I did it!” Within a few moments I’m completely on solid ground, where Bishop is no longer waiting.

Where’d he go? The bastard.

I see past the bank onto the tiny island, not even spotting him at first. The humming of false bees comes suddenly, sparking me out of my swimming lessons. Bishop is surrounded by three spriggans, whom I couldn’t see from where I was. Their odd fake swarms of stinging nettles buzz around Bishop like a cloud, protecting him from any help that wishes to reach him. They must have been hiding in the trees. His body rests against the fallen log, supposedly where they dragged him. 

Not like this. Not when I was so close to trusting someone.

Fire swirls in the palm of my hand, making me itch to throw it. I hurl it as hard as I can into the spriggan matron, not satisfied with the damage even when she stumbles back. I summon a flame atronach, not caring about the small space of the island. All at once I feel my consciousness fading; a pure rage sweeps over me. I blink as fast as I can to try and keep in control, realizing the numbness I’m experiencing is that little part of me the daedra lived in. Fear overtakes me again; something I’m all too familiar with. The fear of losing Bishop, the one companion I’ve ever felt comfortable with, the fear of drowning, and the fear of losing control.

That split second where my soul wavered is when it hit me. 

I’m forced into the passenger seat, getting buckled in and checked over by someone I don’t know. All I know is they better respect the body they’re in, and they sure as Oblivion better not touch Bishop.

Pseudo-me brings two swords in front of her, the usual purple shadow replaced with a solid, inky black that makes me wonder if they’re truly from a spell at all. I watch myself spring from the ground to the fallen log, landing just above Bishop. Both my swords connect with two different spriggans, making dark grooves in the wood that seemed to fester. The spriggans reel back in what I suspect is disgust, attempting to flee. 

Once again, daedra-infected me doesn’t do survivors. Fire wells up in my hand, much larger than the fireballs I usually produce. This...fire storm rips from my palm to my other hand, exploding in a blast so hot I felt the ashes of the spriggans rip across my skin. 

There’s no way Bishop’s okay. My heart breaks as I take control again, kneeling in fire. I’m out of breath; it feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. There’s sweat all over me, not to mention, my knees are weak. I turn to Bishop, a massive sigh of relief escaping me despite my lack of breath at his presence. The remnants of a ward flicker away from in front of him, the rest of the heat being absorbed by the ring on his finger.

“Bishop…” I say barely above a whisper, taking his head in my hands. No response. I tilt him forward onto the ground, bending his legs. He’s poisoned badly; a few seconds of reading his pulse and I can feel his heart slowly beating, labored beyond what’s normal. My bag lays on the bank across from shore, which I’m going to have to swim twice to get it here. Or once, with Bishop on me… What do I do? 

“Gods watch over me…” I say, figuring what to do. What is that way they carry unconscious people over their shoulders? Grab their leg… and roll adjacent to them so they end up over your back?

Hey, neat. It works.

And Bishop is really heavy.

I carry him to the water’s edge, hesitating as I look onto the placid waters. This is no time to be fearful, I understand, but I just learned how to swim badly a few minutes ago. Carrying someone else is going to be a big issue.

He said we float naturally, right?

I set him on the ground again, taking his torso and pressing it to my front as I ease us both into the water. I slap the part of me that wants to panic once we can’t touch bottom, and command it to instead focus on kicking our legs underwater to propel us across. Once at shore, I meet Karnwyr and together we try our best to patch him up. He’s grown cold; both the water and poison have dropped his body temperature. I light a fire on what would have been our campfire tonight and rip out every vial I have in my bag, searching. 

Karnwyr curls up beside his master, trying his best to heat Bishop up. I drape all of our blankets over him, rolling one up under his neck to make sure he can breathe. I only have one cure poison, and the crack in the vial and the wetness at the bottom of the pack tells me it’s not going to be enough. Regardless I tilt his head up, pouring what little I can down his throat and cursing myself for being so careless. I don’t have the ingredients or equipment to make more.

Solitude, a half day’s ride, is my only choice.

I whistle, calling the two horses to me. With the rope in my pack I tie Gradient’s reigns to Ashes, hauling Bishop up onto my horse and praying we make it.


	7. Two types of poisons

Everything is going wrong. Bishop is injured, there was only one room in the winking skeever, and worst of all the potion shop here in Solitude didn’t have the potion or the ingredients I needed. The best I could do is make some resist poisons to lessen the effect, and continuously give him health potions. Every time I do he grows more immune to them. I don’t know what to do.

I close the door to the potion store behind me with a sigh. I need to find someone who can actually heal, not just my mediocre magic band-aids.

“My lady?” A tall breton in full armor grabs my attention. His dark hair and eyes remind me of home, glittering subtly from tanned skin like the northern Bretons. Steel armor protected his perfectly honed muscles, which I could clearly see poking out through the gaps in his armor. He’s taller and stronger than Bishop surely, and his face is clean-shaven and immaculate unlike the Ranger’s. Gods, is it even possible for someone from our race to be that tall!? He towers above me-just to look at him I have to look steeply up. “Are you possibly the dragonborn?”

“Uh, yes, ummm…” I pause. “And you are?”  
“Casavir. A Paladin from High Rock.” We have paladins? Since when? The only Paladins I know of are the Vigilants of Stendarr. He must be from the sect in High Rock. I actually was born near their hall. I’ve seen them work miracles; exorcise dremora, heal werewolves, and even resurrect someone afflicted with vampirism. If he’s actually one of them, he can save Bishop. Perhaps the Gods haven’t abandoned me...

“A Paladin of Stendarr?” I pause. “So you’re a fighter  _ and  _ a healer?”

“Correct.”

“Paladin, I will hear out anything you may wish to say in a moment, but I have dire need of your skills.”

“You do?” His eyes light up a bit.

“My traveling companion has been poisoned badly. I stabilized him but I fear it was a temporary fix.” I’m nearly shivering in both happiness and fear. “He’s in one of the rooms in the winking skeever. Please help me-I promise it’s urgent.”

“Lead the way.” He dips his head, eyes steely with responsibility.

…

“This man is your companion?” He says, stopping short when he enters the room. I summon my healing light, leaning over Bishop. After a quick pulse check, he’s still breathing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve checked today exclusively.

“Yes. Do you know each other?” I ask quickly. “It was poison from a Spriggan, so I don’t know… I guess it would have to be a herbal poison, something organic, but I don’t know if they have their own kind of...kind of poison!” I stutter, looking back to him. “Do you know?”

“How long have you known each other?” He pauses. “Where did you meet him?”

“What?” I asked, flabbergasted. He’s not helping me. Simply standing in the doorway, as if deciding if healing Bishop is worth the effort. “A month? Two months? Three? We met in Riverwood. I helped him get his wolf…” I say. “Now please, Paladin…”

“My Lady, I don’t believe you understand who lays in front of you.” He says. “Although I am sworn to heal those in need, the almighty rule is I  _ protect _ . And that man, in front of you, is the wolf among the flock that rips apart others.” 

“Huh?” I think back to anything he’s done. Only did in a few odd bandits, it’s not as if that’s a large deal. By Oblivion, I’ve probably killed more than he has. “I don’t understand. He hasn’t done anything even remotely questionable…”

“Perhaps he has changed his ways,” The Paladin’s gaze changes from me to Bishop. “Perhaps not. I assume he has not said a word of anything he’s done prior to your...partnership?”

“Oh, no, we’re not…” I blush a bit. “We’re just traveling together.” 

“Ah.” He looks relieved. “The statement still stands. I’m sure he’s said nothing of what he’s done before?”

“I dunno, he’s a ranger. Hunting?” I sigh in exasperation, doing my best to lessen the pain. Bishop’s face has twisted in what I can only describe as extreme distress. His whole body is tense, like he’s going to twist himself apart. It must be the poison, attacking his nervous system. Gods, I don’t know how to fix this...

“My lady, he was a mercenary.” The Paladin says. “A sellsword who gave his oath to anyone. Particularly a guy by the name of Thorn, who still hangs out near Falkreath. He robbed those who walked by, took bounties that...were not made by anyone in good standing….and other...deeds I need not mention...” He trails off.

So that’s why he can fight so well.

 

A̮̫͂͌ͦ͡ͅn̷d̄ ̨͒̑̄̔̒ͣͨt̮͕̞̪̞̻̉̿̽̌ͅh̢̳͖a͇̟͇̫̳͇̥̐̑̇̏̅ẗ̬̲͈͗̒̆̓͘'̴͚̮͈̝̯̬̺̎͌͌͗͋s̶̬̘͚̻͈̋̒̾̄ͦ̋̈́ ̥͉̀ͥ̈͂̑̎̐͡ͅw͍̫̾̍̄h̋͂ͨ̈̎̓y̭̽̐̋̂ͫ̇ ̺̮̱͎̣̞͍̒̓̈ͫͬ́h̵͍̦̤̠̞̯͋̈ͩ̽ͨͫ̈́ę͉͚͇̠̑̔̿ͮ̚ ͈͖̘͔̖͚͓̽̏ͨ̊̇̀̚͠k͌ͫ̊́͏̻n̨̩͇͓̗̺̙̦̽̚e͚̤̤̝̻͇̘̋͟ẉ̛̗̻̞͂̏̒ͧͥ̆̚ͅ ̻͔͔̫̻m̴̼ͮy͈̥͙ͧ͘ ̠̱̙̮̙̼̘̎̋́͐͝b͙̗̻̆̒ȏ̴̯ũ̯̙̽ͫ͛̋ͣ̔n̈̄͆̏҉̲͓͖͇tͪ̿y̎ͪ̂ͬ̌͠.͋̔

 

Woah, hello darkness my old friend. The last thing I need is to show the Paladin I harbored a dremora in my soul, if only for a week or so. Despite my immediate rage, I should give Bishop the benefit of the doubt. There’s no way the Paladin would lie, it’s rumored they get struck by lightning if they do, but I’ve traveled with him for a month. A month with him fighting by my side is all I know about him, but that’s already so much.

How he wakes up before me and relights the fire, and makes sure the horses are saddled in time for my awakening. How he always fights yawns, supposedly because they make him look like his guard isn’t up. And how he continuously steals glances to me, watching my movements even in the heat of battle, a small grin tugging at his lips. How Karnwyr trusts him completely, and sleeps on top of him to keep watch for the both of them. 

On a side note, that’s how I got caught with the snowberry thing. 

If he had wanted to hurt me, kill me, or take me back to Markarth, he would have done it any of the times I was open. Which would have been four minutes after meeting me. No, he had plenty of opportunities. And who willingly keeps watch on someone being targeted by a serial killer, if they’re just going to kill them themselves?

But perhaps he’s in it for the long haul? After all, if the Butcher did get my body, I wouldn’t be in one piece to collect the bounty. Perhaps he’s waiting for us to wander close to the collection sight, or his client wants to see my death. Thonar Silver-Blood would want that. Or perhaps it’s Elenwen, that Thalmor ambassador. I’ve crossed her and the Thalmor more times than I can count, and it’s never ended well for them.

I realize there’s no way he’s after me. In fact, the notion is ridiculous.

_ He knew my greatest weakness, and helped me to get over it. _

“Paladin, I apologize, but I think your judgement may be misplaced.” I sit back in the chair, turning to face him. “He may...have done some things in the past, but you nor I can deny someone who’s changed their ways a chance.” I decide it’s worth it to tell the iron-clad man. “He’s known my greatest weakness since the day we met, yet he’s never used it against me. Even tried to help me.” Though, in truth, I think I may be more scared of water than I’ve ever been.

“If you truly think he deserves to live…” The Paladin sighs, joining my side at his bed. “I shall not quarrel with one as powerful as you.”

“Thank you, sir Knight.” I sigh with relief.

“The Spriggans and their poisons are tricky. They use an ancient type of curse which acts as a poison. To heal, there’s no remedy other than to banish the curse.” Golden light appears at his fingers, and almost all at once Bishop’s pain subsides. His face becomes more peaceful, and once I wash away the sweat on his brow it dissipates entirely. 

“You are skilled, Paladin.” I heave a sigh of relief, whisking my hair back behind my ears. “Very skilled, indeed. What is your name, so I can thank you properly?”

“They call me Casavir.” He says, a smile appearing. “But do not discredit yourself, my lady. It certainly took skill to keep him alive this far.”

“I’m Rowan...and I only dabble in restoration.” I confess. At the sight of Bishop’s regaining health I can’t help but beam, turning to Casavir with a soft gaze. Before I can stop myself I ruffle his hair, sighing in relief. “Thank you, Sir Casavir.” I bring out my coin purse, setting it on the side of the bed. “I know you cannot accept money for your services, but I can definitely pay for your lodgings for the next few nights…”

“Not necessary.” He says like clockwork. After he mulls the notion over his demeanor softens and becomes informal, and he turns to me with a watchful eye. “But there is something I may ask of you.”

“Shoot.” I say. Anything for what he did and taught me.

“You are aware of Pinemoon cave, just south of here?”

“Yeah, we were going to clean that out actually.” I bring out my letter, handing it to him. “Bishop was injured at the pond nearby.”

“I see.” He pauses. “It is my duty to protect the people of Solitude and to purge the unclean from that cave. Will you accompany me?”

“Sure.” I say without thinking. “But...can we wait until Bishop wakes up?”

“If you feel it is necessary.” He says dryly. “I will wait.”

“Thank you.” I say, watching him exit the room. With a sigh I turn back to my vigil, smoothing Bishop’s bangs from his eyes and propping him up from where he had moved during my absence. 

At my touch his eyes flutter open, meeting mine. He squints in the bright light streaming from the window, his gaze coming in and out of focus. I steady him with my hand, propping him up on the pillows and bringing the jug of water to his bedside table.

“You’re safe in Solitude. In the Winking Skeever.” I cross my arms. “You scared me half to death, Bishop!”

“Sorry?” He sighs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed as if to stand.

“Woah woah woah. You’re not getting up.” I pat his leg on the bed, signaling for him to stay down. “You’ve still got a lot of poison in your system. Three Spriggans would kill normal people.” I sigh, taking the necklace I gave him off of his neck. “It broke. I take that back. Three Spriggans worth of poison would definitely kill you.”

“Well let me keep the necklace, woman.” He takes it back from me.

“I can re-enchant it…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I’ll wear it until then.” He says adamantly. “Did you...swim across the lake, even with me on your back?”

“More like floated.” I snort. “Most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.” I grin at the remembrance. Gods, I was scared. His face seems conflicted, as if he’s deciding what to say next. His brows are furrowed, and his jaw is jagged into a displeased frown. “What’s wrong? Skeever got your tongue?”

“Remember what I said about taunting me?”

“Nope.” Before I can say anything else, he’s grabbed onto my tunic and pulled me into him, sending me sprawling on top of him as we both hit the bed.

“I’ll make you remember.” He growls, wrapping one arm around my waist and winding his fingers through my hair. All at once our lips meet, sending my brain spiraling in questions. He breaks the short kiss, biting my bottom lip as he looks straight in my eyes with a grin. As soon as I think he’s finished he pulls me back in. His lips are softer than I imagined, and he treats me much gentler than I figured he would. He’s exploring carefully, yet still pushes me as if he’s had this pent up for some time.

I wonder if he has.

Finally he releases me, letting me tip back into my chair with a face so red I might be able to cook something on it. 

“Nice shade of red you have there, Ladyship.” He grins. “So how’d you heal me?”

“Right, about that. I met someone…” Right on time, Casavir pushes open the door. He takes one look at Bishop, and immediately changes his gaze to me. He frowns as if he knows what just went on, and takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Our horses are packed, my lady.” He says calmly, yet his gaze still narrows at Bishop.

“Ah! Okay.” I get up from my seat, smoothing my tunic down. I pull my armor up from the foot of the bed, strapping it on quickly and swinging my pack onto my back again. “I’ll be right there!”

“I will be waiting.” He says, excusing himself from the room.

“Ladyship.” Bishop says quietly. “What is  _ he  _ doing here?”

“The Paladin? Casavir?” I blink furiously. “So you two do know each other!”

“Not because we want to! Tell me that shitty tin can isn’t who healed me.” I fall silent.

“Damn you to hell, woman. That’s the one person I’d never want to touch me!”

“You would have died without him.” I sigh. “The alchemy shop didn’t have what I need, and I’m a novice compared to what he can do.” He grits his teeth, seemingly torn between living with Casavir’s help and dying. “Why, what’s with your bad blood?”

“It’s quite ancient, ladyship.” He sighs, scratching his scalp. “Now just where are you two going together?”

“Pinemoon cave. Apparently they requested the job to him, too. He asked that I help him clear it out.”

“He’s just saying that so you’ll leave me behind!” Bishop says.

“Kind of the point. You’re still poisoned.” I raise an eyebrow.

“No-not like that. I mean for good.”

“Oh. No, I’m coming back for your sorry behind.” I snort. “We’ll only be gone a few days. Three or so!”

“Ladyship…” He growls. Oh no, now it’s my turn to shut you up. I brush my mouth against his, immediately making him freeze in his thoughts.

“Bye, Bishop!” I say, leaving the room with a slight wave.

…. 

“Come in.” Bishop says, clearing his throat. The door swings open, letting Casavir inside. He sits in the chair beside the bed, crossing his arms and glaring at his arch nemesis. “ _ Asshole…”  _ He mutters.

“I’d reciprocate, but my vows keep me.” He pauses. “At least one of us is sticking to our convictions.”

“Convictions my ass. I’m just trying to live an interesting life before I die.” Bishop shrugs.

“We both know that isn’t true.” Casavir grabs Bishop’s pack from the foot of the bed, searching Bishop’s face for any hint of strain. He finds none. It nearly compels him to set it down again, but some nagging element in his brain tells him to open the bag. Stendarr help him with what he should find.

The usual. Money, a few tunics. However…

“Potions, Bishop? I never saw you as a alchemy man.” He pulls them out of the pack, flipping them over. “Professional work. Have you seriously digressed into the work of a thief?”

“Rowan thinks you’re some Paladin from High Rock, but I know better. You  _ were  _ a Paladin from High Rock. Good thing too, if you can’t recognize handiwork from your kin.” Bishop pulls himself forward, sitting up in the bed. “The lady made them. Pretty good, aren’t they?” He narrows his gaze, displeased at the Paladin touching his things. Things that Rowan gave him; and especially things he would later press to his lips. 

“Hold your tongue.” Casavir says sharply. “You act as if you know everything, Ranger. I may no longer have a temple, but I still have my God, my vows, and my ambition.”

“Oh, very noble, sir knight.” He grins. “You tell that to everyone who realizes you’re a phony?”

“Say more, and I shall cut your tongue out.” Casavir moves to stand, but freezes once he hears Bishop’s light laugh. Odd, the ranger never seemed to have a sense of humor.

“My arrows cut through steel...and bullshit.” Bishop looks to his bow, leaning in the corner. Rowan had unstrung it and neatly placed it next to his quiver. “If you would seriously strike down an injured man, then not only have you disproved your vows, but also your basic morals.” 

“Quiet.” The Paladin still shuffles around the bag, driven by some unknown force. He finds an alcove in the front, a stiff leather pocket that he wouldn’t have found if he wasn’t holding the pack so abusively. At his touch, Bishop’s hair bristles, sending electricity through his every nerve. If it wasn’t boasting, Casavir would laugh in victory. He tugs open the pocket, delving in and discovering neatly folded pieces of paper. He hauls them out, immediately realizing the scrawl as Bounty notes. Lots of them. 

On inspection, some are as he had done before. Jealous lovers, disgruntled workers, and suspicious merchants. However, three stand out. Their paper is more official, higher quality than the others. The handwriting is more precise. Bounties sent by the nobles of this country...

“Wait-Casavir!” Bishop says hastily, moving to snatch the bounties from him. Casavir stands, using his height and Bishop’s lack of stability to his advantage. He revels in the ranger’s gasp as he opens up the papers, expecting something heinous. Death of a Jarl? Capture of a maiden?

The assassination of the Dragonborn?

That’s quite a lot of zeros. 

Times three bounties.

The Silver-Bloods, the Thalmor, and a name he’s never heard before. Sounds...vampirish. 

“Bishop.” Casavir says steadily, actually expecting this.

“Don’t you dare tell her!” Bishop stands up grabbing the papers. “Gods, don’t tell her!”

“To make an unreligious man swear to the Gods…” Casavir couldn’t help it. He grinned.

“I never planned on killing her.” Bishop swallowed hard, not expecting the compartment to be found, even by the Paladin.  

“Bishop.” Casavir repeats, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Okay, yes, I planned on killing her.” Bishop confesses. “But plans change, alright!? Ask her yourself-I’ve done nothing suspicious, because I don’t  _ want  _ to do anything to harm her anymore. I’m content with how things are now.”

“How things are...now?” Casavir pauses. 

“Traveling with her, stupid.” Bishop spits.

“How were they...before you began traveling together?” Bishop fell silent. “Bishop, these bounties were issued months ago. And might I remind you, if there’s one thing we agree on, liars deserve to perish.”

“I was following her, okay!?” Bishop glares at him, his eyes pure, glittering fury. “I followed her until I saw she’d be heading to Riverwood, waited for her, played dumb, and at the time I was missing my wolf so I figured I could pull a sob story and have her help me. I kill her, collect the bounty, done. But that’s no longer the plan! Okay?” 

“And I’m just supposed to believe you.” Casavir’s glare narrows even farther, lip curling in disgust. “Just like how Rowan believes you never intended to take her life.” At the response, Bishop cringes slightly. He’s lost his cool; that much is evident. 

“I’ve changed, Casavir.”

“Yeah, and how long until you change back?” Casavir nearly pulled out his sword, but the thumping of boots on the stairs makes them both return to normalcy. 

“Go.” Bishop spits. “I’ll still be here, o holy one.”


	8. Looks like those wolves weren't A*were*

“Milady, have you fought vampires before?”

“Oh yeah, tons. Both fledglings and the real deal. I fought Harkon at Volkihar.” I think back, remembering my time with the Dawnguard. Really have to say, they didn’t make too much of an impression on me. “Well, it was me and some outside help.”

“So you are experienced?”

“More or less.” I grin, tossing him a cure disease potion. He thankfully catches it, putting it somewhere along his belt. “Cure disease. You may have some of your own, and I know you can cure it yourself, but just in case.”

“You are quite kind, my lady.” He says, spurring his horse slightly to catch up to mine. “My heart aches that you must fight these creatures...often.” He says, and I sense a glimmer of hatred well up from his emotions. Interesting.

“It’s not too bad.” I shrug. “Hagravens are worse. Or Necromancers, which coincidentally are usually early-stage vampires.” 

“This land is still deep in evil.” He mutters. “To brave such a place, with that  _ dog… _ ”

“Bishop?” I laugh. “He’s actually the one who made me a bit more open to having others around.”

“Surely you’re joking…” Casavir says lowly, bitterness underlying his tone.

“I’m not going to sing him praises to High Hrothgar, because he does have his flaws, but he’s saved my hide more than once. However, I’ve done the same for him. It works.” 

“I see.” He nods. “Milady…”

“Yes?” I laugh. “It’s alright, if Bishop ever turns a blade to me I’ll turn him into ashes.” I grin at the comical thought. Not at his death; certainly not. But a cartoon like caricature of Bishop all of a sudden just bursting into dust. I doubt it’d ever come to that.

“No my lady, though that does set some fears at ease.” He pauses, searching my face for any sort of strain. “Did you, yourself, get hit by the spriggans as well?”

“Oh, well.” I stretch. “A few scratches. Not as bad as Bishop. I’ll be back in a week or so.”

“If you are not well…” He trails off.

“I’m perfectly well to fight some vampires.” I lean back on my horse, looking up into the crystal blue sky. “I think a bit of battle will heal me better than any resting will.”

“Certainly the Dragonborn deserves her off days…”

“When you love what you do, you don’t work. Thus, no off days.” I sweep my hair back from my face after it was pulled from my braid. “Despite the hazards, I can’t imagine doing anything but adventuring. Meeting people, exploring, and even the fights are exhilarating. I wouldn’t give it for the world. There’s a certain charm that being some boring housewife doesn’t have.”

“I would believe so.” Casavir nods slowly. “I would be honored if you allowed me to travel with you.”

“That’d be lovely.” I flex my fingers, that had formerly been gripping the reigns. “Have you met the other worshippers of Stendarr here?” I ask, turning to him.

“There are...others?” He asks. “A formal guild?”

“Something like that...there’s-” Before I could form my next sentence, a frostbite spider sends a venomous packet hurling past my nose. “Rude.” I snort, firing a fireball at its stupid pincers. It dies with a squeal, flipping over and curling up its legs.

“Those things are unsettling.”

“I know.” I pat my horse’s neck, willing it to calm itself. “What was I talking about?”

“I’ve forgotten.” He admits. 

“Let’s veer to the right a bit until we reach the cave.” My eyes wander over, where the edge of Clearpine Pond in the distance.

“Is that…”

“Where the Spriggans attacked Bishop, yes.” I finish. “I did destroy them, but something tells me there’s more.”

“A wise decision.” He agrees as we re-route. My gaze wanders back to him; just like with Bishop, I can’t help myself. 

How is he so damn tall!?

And I prefer light armor myself, but he definitely has the muscles to fill that iron armor in. He’s much larger and bulkier than Bishop, and despite his manners I know full well he’s seen his share of battles. 

Ah, his manners. He’s so much friendlier and better tempered than my companion. Bishop could learn a thing or two from him. Though it seems they know each other, right? And as it stands, they’re quite at odds. As in I’m pretty sure Bishop wants to stab him.

“So where did  _ you  _ meet Bishop?” I say finally. “He’s not exactly someone you’d meet at a dinner party.”

“We’ve crossed paths a few times.” He admits, looking over to me. He has soft dark eyes that remind me of High Rock. I miss my homeland, but my destiny is here, in Skyrim. I’m content with seeing glimmers of my origins through others. Casavir is no exception. He reminds me of everything about home; just being near him reminds me of running through High Rock’s forests with my friends, running with our familiars in an odd game of tag. 

“Where!?” I scoff. “He never goes into towns willingly.”

“He travels often, but he sticks to Skyrim.” The Paladin says elusively. 

“Well, that’s cool. Did you ever see him in High Rock?”

“Thank the Gods I haven’t,” He scoffs. “He does travel to Morrowind and Hammerfell, however. And I believe he's familiar with Cyrodiil.”

“I’ve only been in High Rock and Skyrim.” I laugh. “You’re both much more travelled than me, it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve only been near the upper rim of Cyrodiil, and I was only in Morrowind for mayhap a few weeks.”

“Still, you’ve seen much more than I have.” I shrug. “But that’s alright. Perhaps once there’s peace in this place I’ll adventure out some.”

“A worthy goal.” He stops our horses. “Well, unless I’m hallucinating, that’s the place.”

“Don’t think so.” I giggle. “Unless we’re both seeing things.” I slide off my horse, slinging my bow onto my back and shoving my quiver onto my hip. I take my healing and cure disease potions from my bag and put them in the holster along my belt for easy access. 

Pinemoon Cave. Split logs litter the ground near the entrance, as if people were building things inside. The entire place reeks of death and iron, and a bit of lupine mixed in. And I know it’s not werewolves. 

This place is perfect for a group of vampires. A short ways from the river and from Dragons Bridge, with the entrance facing away from the sun. Not to mention the shade from the nearby trees and rocky mountains make it nearly impossible for any direct sunlight to reach ground.

“I’m ready.” I conclude. “It’s a bit past noon, but I think the two of us can clear it out before nightfall.”

“Are you sure?” He looks to the entrance.

“Your sword is silver, and I got lots of fire to throw.” I shrug. “Though I do have one thing to ask of you.”

“Of course. Anything.” He confirms.

“Let me go in first; they usually have hounds or wolves standing guard during the day.” I look into the dark abyss of the entrance. “Your armor may be protective, Paladin, but you are clanky.” 

“That...is true.” He says, ashamed. 

“I’ll scout it out and see how many we’re up against.” I look down to the mushrooms at my feet. “Fly Amanita. Feeds off of corpses. They’re definitely in here.”

“I leave it to you, then.” He pauses. “But if I hear anything…”

“Come in running, but be careful.” I crack a smile, imagining the scene. “I’ll be hurling fire around like an atronach, probably cracking jokes.” With that, I sneak into the cave. 

_ “Laas!”  _ I whisper, seeing the shadows of red. Two wolves, or perhaps large dogs. And four vampires. Two of the human lights glow strongly, with one weak, and one I can barely see. That faint one must be the master.

I inhale slowly as to not give away my position. Sure enough, the rotting scent of blood and death reaches me. At least I know I’m downwind of them. 

I creep forward, bow drawn. The two are reclining at the entrance to the tunnel to go deeper, their eyes partly closed.

Sorry, doggies. I nock two arrows on my bow, weighing my odds. Just to you kids at home, if your bow doesn’t allow this, don’t try it. This is probably going to take more setup than a Thalmor party infiltration, but I need to take them both out at once. I hold my bow horizontal, notching my first as usual. I skew it down, and nock the second right above. I tilt that one as well, sizing up the angle I’m going to have to shoot at.

I’ll take those odds.

I pull back, feeling the world slow down. Just me, and this shot. If I miss, they’re going straight into the rock and will make the loudest sound in history, not to mention the dogs barking up a storm. Or wolves. I still can’t tell.

Pwing!

I love that sound. Both arrows hit home, to my relief. I really wouldn’t want to mess up while Casavir is out there. I’ll save my screw ups for when I’m alone. 

“Four vampires. Two fledglings, an older, experienced one, and a master.” I reel backwards out of the cave, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Ready?”

“Of course.” He draws his sword. “You’ve taken out the...guards?” He smiles. “Impressive.”

“Thank you kindly.” I wink, sliding down the slope back into the room. I tread lightly still, retrieving my arrows from the wolves. What’s up with people and keeping wolves!? Dogs really aren’t that wimpy!

“I will lead.” Casavir whispers, holding his armor so it won’t clank. Although we aren’t going to do this stealthy-like, the element of surprise is more expensive than silver, and we don’t want to just give it away. Not to these monsters; they deserve no mercy. 

“I’m right behind you.” I nod, nocking another arrow. “Once you go through this passage, there’s one directly on the incline. The others are in the main room.”

At my words he springs into action, charging through the tunnel. God, he’s so tall his hair nearly brushes the top of the tunnel! 

All at once I hear sword slice into vampire, and a yelp of surprise echoes into the main hall. I knew he was strong, but I never knew just how much strength he held. The first vampire never even phased him. The other three get up from their varying stages and bare their fangs, the look of fear inscribed on two of them only being properly described as awe. He certainly is unreal. Moving so quickly in that heavy armor of his, his silver sword raised above his head in an instant, and back of his side the next moment. The magic of the vampires not affecting him any, only fueling his rage.

I should probably stop gawking.

I fire off two shots into the master vampire, alerting him to my presence. He disappears in a cloud of bats, reappearing in front of me with a grin, eyes glued to my shoulder.

“Yeah I’m not playing that game.” I drop my bow suddenly, punching him in the face. Remember my ice ring? Remember what it’s made of?

The silver burns into his face, making him recoil back. A moment later and I have a sword driven in his torso all the way up to the hilt, the shadows burning him inside out. The sickenly high pitch noise makes us both reel in horror, but I recover first despite the strain. I hold a fireball in my hand, and with another swing, he burns into ashes with a squeal.

“Not fair, I only got one.” I brush myself off, slinging my bow onto my back again. “I must say, Paladin, you’re used to this.”

“My duties as a Paladin call for this often, my lady.” He calls from below. I jump off the cliff onto the cabinets below, peeking over the edge to their contents. “Ew, human parts.” I comment, hopping off that as well. I swipe a few gold and some nirnroots off of the shelves, and join him next to the corpse of one of the fledglings.

“He’s not turning to ash.” Casavir comments.

“Just turned. That or he was never bitten and turned by some other method. I call it Premature Edraculation.”

“Lady!” He says, blushing. Hey, someone else does it too!

“Sorry, I’m a bit more crass than you’d think.” I pat him on the back. “I apologize.” I look around the cave, finally taking in the limited scenery. There was a small...living portion, in the back, if it could be called that. The front of the space looked like a mock-temple, with pews and a pulpit, each blood-stained. It made the parody much more morbid.

“Disgusting.” He comments. 

“Man, being a vampire must really suck. I mean, you have to live in these caves…” I giggle at my own pun. “No, but really, garlic bread is pretty good.”

“My lady, you’re driving me batty.” He pauses, seeing the look of pure joy on my face. “I...actually didn’t mean that to be a pun.”

“Too late. I’m rubbing off on you.” I put my hands on my hips, figuring if anything is worth taking. There is a smaller room off to the side we still haven’t been in. “Hey Casavir...let’s go over there.” I look back to him, seeing an even deeper crimson tinge.

“I didn’t mean that sexually!” I cackle, breaking down into laughter. 

“I...um.” He pauses, walking into the smaller room.

“I’m sorry! Come back!” I call, following him into the room. A metal cage, a shelf, a blood stained bed and a chest that looks like a massacre happened on top of it. “Well, now I know where the bulk of the iron smell is from.”

“I abhor vampires.” He says simply, looking around the room. There are bones and bone shards strewn around, obviously by the master vampire. Just putting in my thoughts, I don’t want to know what happened on that bed.

“I’m going to look in the chest.” I kick open the lid, looking in. Some gold, a few gems, and the obvious possessions of some people. Clothes, varying from male britches to female dresses, accompanied by war axes and greatswords. I take the dwarven arrows that lay on top, closing the rest with a sigh. “I’ll split the gold with you.” I offer.

“No need. I did not take this request for the money.” He grunts, angry, but not at me. I can see he’s fatigued; that burst of energy while fighting the vampires took a toll on him. Riding for hours and then fighting the semi-undead is taxing. Sweat appears on his brow, and his breathing is much faster than usual.

“You could spend it ironically. Buy anti-vampire weapons with the money of a vampire.” I press it into his palm. “And if you don’t think I’m going to split the reward with you, you’re wrong.”

“You’re kind, but I don’t need this filthy coin.” He barely mutters. “We should leave.” 

“I have enough magic in me to send this place up in flames.” I say nonchalantly, hoping he takes the hint. “It’s damp, but I can do it.”

“Please.” He turns and walks out, leaving me to my craft. I pull some of the books off of the shelves, putting them onto the bed and some in the cage. Flames erupt from my palm, showering the entire room in flames and drying up the moss on the walls, becoming the perfect tinder to burn everything in sight. Even the cage will break down; my flames burn hotter than a forge. I back up into the main room, switching to fireballs. One goes into the podium, another three into the pews, and four into the living area. With that, I’m drained. 

“Are you alright?” He asks me once I’ve appeared in the front room.

“Yeah. Magic takes a lot out of me.” I chuckle, stopping to catch my breath. “I think...I’m ready for a good night’s sleep.”

“As am I.” He agrees, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to steady myself.

“Thanks.” I laugh as we walk out into the open.

All at once, a flash of steel draws my gaze to the side. I realize it instantly, planting my feet into the ground and shoving Casavir away as hard as I can. He staggers to the side, giving him time to draw his weapon as the full blow of the hammer connects with the back of my neck.

Ow.


	9. Bad Blood Dries Silver

“Bishop!” Casavir exclaimed, bursting into the room.

“What, come to put me on trial or some other righteous bullshit?” He turns from his spot at the window. “At least let me finish my midnight snack.”

“No, you blundering idiot! It’s the lady, it’s Rowan she’s…” He gasps for air. He had pushed his horse as far as he could, and his poor steed was exhausted a short ways before solitude. He had tied Rowan’s horse and his own together knowing they would find their ways back to the stables, and ran the rest of the ways on foot.

“She’s not with you?” Bishop nearly vaults over his chair, grabbing his bag and throwing it onto his bed. He straps his armor together, tightening his belts with gritted teeth. “What. Happened?”

“We defeated the vampires, and…” Casavir sits down, leaning back and exhaling. “Both of us were pretty tired from it. She had used up all of her magic, and I had lost my temper fighting the vampires, so we were discussing where to camp once we exited. Four men were waiting for us outside the cave. Rowan shoved me out of the way of the first strike so I could draw my weapon, and she took the brunt of the blow and fell unconscious. I went to stand over her and defend, but the three attacked me while their leader escaped with the lady. They were on horseback. Bishop-” 

“Did you kill the three!?” Bishop snaps, shoving his knife in its holster.

“Of course.” Casavir pulls a paper out from his pouches. “Look familiar?”

“Oh no…” Bishop opens it, knowing the writing well. 

 

_ Here's double the original sum. _

_ If your men fail me again, I will put a bounty on  _ _ your _ _ head. _

_ Return to me with Rowan, she shall pay for slandering my family’s name. _

_ Once you do, I’ll ensure your names are cleared with the Jarl. _

_ Thonar Silver Blood _

 

“That old fuck!” Bishop curses, slinging his pack onto his back. 

“Let’s leave.” Casavir growls.

“Oh no. Not you. You’ve done enough damage. Down boy, I’ll go save the Princess.” He grins. “And collect the reward for doing so.”

“You…” Casavir goes to draw his sword. 

“We’ll send you a postcard!” Bishop was already down the stairs before Casavir could finish his sentence. So Rowan is going to be in Markarth in a matter of a week or so. It’s nearly midnight, so they’ve probably stopped near Dragons Bridge. 

It was an actual mercenary, so he’s going to be smart. By now he hasn’t met up with his pals or found an angry, six-foot, hulking Breton, so he’ll assume he’s alone. Alone, but presumably no one knows he has Rowan… How will he adjust?

He’ll be traveling along Karth River all the way to Markarth, where he’ll cash in. That’d be the fastest, but he’d still need to keep Rowan unconscious or bound the entire trip. She’d find a way to slow him down either way. She’s a violent sleeper.

Rowan. Gods, why did he let that toaster go with her, alone, to a cave? He knew Casavir was all bark and no bite. Like a lot of dogs, he was a hulking mass that made tons of noise but never figured out how to bare its fangs. This was a job for the wolf. That domesticated dog of a Paladin couldn’t fight or even think like him; unlike Casavir, he didn’t think in ideals. And Rowan, as strong as she is, can’t protect herself and others. She’d try, but every single time it got her into trouble. Like this. Her icy exterior wasn’t very deep, and as long as she breathed she’d try and save idiots from themselves. Rowan had time to shove Casavir away? Why couldn’t he have moved!? Why did she have to take the fall for that idiot’s incompetence? 

Now that he had started this downhill snowball effect, there was no stopping. Her eyes, unchanging, but the shade of her face telling everything. Her giggle, a short, bubbly sound that made him grin himself even if nothing was funny. The air of innocence she carried with her, which became blazingly obvious when she blushed. Now that he could no longer see her, the image of Rowan haunts him.

He reaches the edge of the city, whistling. Both Karnwyr and Gradient appear out of the darkness, Ashes pressing against his horse. The stablemaster must have untied her. 

“Sorry, girl.” He pats Ashes’s neck. “We’re going to get your master back. Stay strong, we’ll rest soon.”

…

The two horses gave all they could to the effort. They reached Pinemoon Cave without stopping, and even after they stopped the horses still scratched restlessly at the ground.

Bishop slid off of Gradient, immediately being hit with the salty smell of blood. He never had an acute nose; but in the darkness he knew what’d he’d find. But without Rowan, he doesn’t have a candlelight to see by. After nearly a month without use, his flint and steel was at the bottom of his pack. Rowan had always made his fire starter obsolete. 

In the light of his torch, he could see the rage Casavir was in. Three corpses surrounded the entrance of the cave, all slashed to bits. Rowan’s capture put the even-tempered Paladin in a fit of rage? If he was even slightly interested in Rowan, in the one girl he’s invested even the smallest amount of emotion in, Casavir would find himself with a dagger in the back. A very sharp dagger. Which seems a bit...excessive, but to find someone he could actually put his trust in and care about without fearing betrayal... Rowan was as rare as an intact Snow Elf. 

He couldn’t deny what Rowan had done to him. Her soft demeanor and carefree attitude ate away at his walls. Casavir thought Bishop could do anything to harm Rowan? Something a bit more than her strength was staying his hand. He didn’t love her; that was impossible for him. His body could no longer physically comprehend that emotion. But he did find her pleasant company. The only non-lupine company he could stand...just about since he grew out of boyhood.

She wasn’t loud, or obnoxious. Rowan never got in his way, or tried to change him to suite her. He was sure the thought of taking advantage of him never even crossed her mind. She saw the two of them as companions, completely equal to her. Not condescending with an inflated head like he imagined the Dragonborn to be.

He was going to kill her. Was, being the key word in that sentence. He was actually a bit phased by her shouts, which probably saved her at first. That, and when he pinned her to the ground, he felt the tingling sensation of her slowly summoning a sword to her aid. Bishop didn’t want to know what would happen if she summoned a sword inside his chest.

After they parted, he realized he had completely forgotten his purpose for getting Karnwyr back with her. She had walked in and out of his life in a mere few days, and in that short span he had forgotten the goal he had spent weeks preparing for.

So he followed her. Followed her into Shor’s Stone, and witnessed something badass, and yet so idiotic at the same time. She should have gotten help, or at least lit some lights. But she chose to fight blind, and ended up doing a pretty interesting maneuver on the mine wall. He witnessed everything; Bishop had his arrow pointed at her back during the entire fight, shrouded by darkness. If the spiders didn’t finish her off, he would. Yet even against the odds she fought without giving up, finding the most stupid way to get out of her predicament. And lighting the wagon on fire? It burned so bright he almost thought he’d be found out.

After that fight, his curiosity was piqued to an all time high. Was the thousand or so gold on her head worth the free entertainment? If he was going to go through with the bounty, he’d want to watch what else she could do up close. It wouldn’t be a problem; the bounties he had on her didn’t have a time limit, so as long as he travelled with her and protected her from others looking to collect the price...he could extinguish her anytime he thought his coin purse got light. But he’d have to justify why he wanted to tag along. Sure, fighting dragons made a good excuse. However, only one problem remained. Rowan was smart. She knew Bishop would know her bounty. So he had to make it look insignificant, like it wasn’t worth it to anyone. He covered a zero when showing Rowan her own bounty, and made sure to only flash it before stuffing it into that pocket. Of course she knew her bounty was higher; even commented on it. But by lowballing the offer, she thought Bishop had just some second rate townsman’s bounty. His skills of persuasion were flawless; he could have killed her as soon as she turned her back.

Even with all that preparation, all that work, he couldn’t kill her. She wasn’t enticing; her sex appeal wasn’t holding him. Quite the opposite. It was obvious she wasn’t about to wear an amulet of Mara anytime soon. Her body was good enough; adventuring had chiseled muscles out of her flesh better than any he’d ever seen. But she was not only inexperienced at love, she seemed to refuse to comprehend it anymore. That stupid fiance of hers had seen to that.

But every time she situated herself into his chest to warm herself up, the blissful sigh and slight smile made him feel wanted, appreciated. And just a little bit...uncomfortable down there. His private time eased the strain, but he had to admit, having a woman who didn’t have the slightest bit of ill will to either take advantage of or bed him was captivating. Exciting, really. For a hunter like him, having something handed to him didn’t satisfy the hunger he had. The chase is what makes it worth it.

His looks still attracted her, he knew. She glanced at him every once in awhile by magnetic force, and would always stand there for a few moments very confused about why her cheeks were heating up or why she looked. Her body was reacting, she wasn’t. Which just drove him even crazier.

He had decided, after a long drunken monologue at Candlehearth Hall that she was his to chase and his alone. Just making her seemed flustered as she did seemed like a prize to him. Something as small as getting her armor fitted, or seeing him without a shirt was enough to stir up the Dragonborn? It felt like his own little secret. A weakness; a chink in the armor.

Ah yes, her weaknesses. Water, the most obvious one. Anything even remotely sexual. And the most irritating one; her own curiosity and drive. It had gotten her poisoned, nearly killed. He had felt such an intense anger seeing her blood in Windhelm, it made him see red and nearly break the wall then and there. His patience broke. If she refused to do what was necessary to save herself, he’d pick up the slack a little. He spent all damn night finding that killer, only to find him with a dagger pointed at Rowan.

He had fired that arrow so fast it broke the skin on his fingers. With Calixto’s death, a wave of relief washed over him. He had saved her. Yet, not really. The sly minx had a trap of her own, with herself as the bait. Which just irked him further, really. Almost done in by a poison, and then by the killer himself, and she’s calm and collected!?

Speaking of calm and collected, he’s slowly losing that state of himself. In the light of his torch, he sees a silver object lying in the grass, dug into the ground. Her resistance ring. The rage flutters in his core briefly, wishing those three on the ground were still alive. To just see Rowan as a thing to make profit, as only a target, was unforgivable.

Yet wasn’t he the same only a month ago? He sighs, feeling the rage flicker and die. Now all that’s left is empty want. For her to be in the bedroll next to him, her hand accidentally slipping onto his chest. Or her face tucked blissfully into the corner of his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist loosely. In the morning she wouldn’t be hanging over him, her collarbone and breasts nearly in full view as she woke him up, completely oblivious to how she tortured him. 

He wanted her back. 

“It’s metal, but this is important, boy.” He picks it up, lifting it for Karnwyr to sniff. He tucks it in his side pouch, trying not to think about the ring’s master. Time to move on. Once he reached that bastard, Gods know the mercenary will pay for every moment he held her instead of Bishop.

…

Two days. The scent is strong, and as Bishop foretold they’ve been sticking to the river. Agitated mudcrabs and fresh skids in the mud reassure him he’s not too far behind. For a few minutes he had even seen them before the river took a turn. He tried to catch up, but the mercenary must have sensed something because he whisked her away.

...

Three. Damn. Days. Three days he’s been on this road, and all he’s seen are glimpses of their wake. Occasionally the remnants of a short fire, or an unnatural clearing. Karnwyr still had the scent, thank whatever divine is doing that, but he loses it periodically. He doesn’t know who this mercenary was, but he’s good. Really good.

But not better than Bishop.

…

Four days. Only saw a moment of a horse down in the valley below before it disappeared.

…

Five days. She could be in Markarth by now with that old bastard. The thought of that guy doing anything with her made him sick. He was exhausted and so were the horses; they ran on pure anger and nothing else now.

…

Markarth. Day six. He  _ finally  _ made it. He walked into the city full of unrestrained fury, ready to tear that guy a new one. Rowan was somewhere within these walls, probably tied up in a house somewhere, angry at the world. 

“Where do the Silver-Bloods live?” He asks the nearby butcher. In reply all he gets is a roll of the eyes and a scoff.

_ Remember...keep your fury for Thonar. _

“Treasury House is just over the hill. Door with a personal guard in front of it. They don’t think us guards are good enough; rich scum.” A nearby guard tells him, pointing up the hill.

Well then, that’s a good start. 

Stupid Markarth. What’s that painting or drawing or whatever? Relativity…. By MC Escher? That’s Bishop’s picture of Markarth every time he comes in. Dwarven ruins or not, the thing is a maze of stairs upon stairs upon stairs leading in and to the ruins, just asking for a few dwarven spheres to rampage with a crossbow. Running Rowan out of here was a mistake, considering her ability to tinker with dwarven machinery. 

He climbs up the steps, seeing the Treasury House. Rowan was right; the place reeked of coin and he was still a fair ways from it.

 

_ Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. _

_ I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes. _

_ With a voice wielding power of the ancient nord art, _

_ Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes. _

 

They aren’t anywhere near the inn. And that voice sounds a bit more than familiar. It’s 

barely above a hum, but he could pick that voice out of the crowd anywhere. He whirls around, looking amongst the throngs of people with a renewed urgency. She’s here!?

His eyes search every face, every crevice, every detail. The mint green Juniper trees sprouting from odd places amongst the silvery glint of the dwarven pavement. The smith’s motion draws his attention. Bishop notices its an assistant, not the actual silversmith. Odd.

Bishop wouldn’t give up. Rowan was somewhere here. His gaze wanders up the hillside, away from the mossy outcroppings and decaying dwarven road. 

Up there, on the cliff face. A small patch of ground sticking out, with a Juniper tree and some dangling legs. She’s up there, casually leaning back with her bow in her hands.

_ That  _ _ Wench! _

She’s been okay this entire time!?

 

_ It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes _

_ Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes _

_ For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows _

_ You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come! _

…

 

“You!” Bishop yells up to me, grabbing his own bow. This is going to be good.

“Oh! Bishop!” I looks over the edge, my loose hair free flowing from my face. I haven’t gotten around to putting my ponytail back in place. My scuffle with the bounty hunter proved a bit rougher than intended; I was still groggy from whatever it was he gave me and I wasn’t about to go full Legolas with my bow. 

“Gods, ROWAN!” He yells again, nocking an arrow. “Stupid girl!”

“Woah woah woah!” I try to coax as an arrow sticks in the trunk of the Juniper bush. “Mad much!?”

“Yes!” He fires another arrow, breaking the branch onto my head. The other sticks next to my leg. I know he’s not trying to hit me of course; but he’s trying to force me to come down. And it’s working.

“Ha, I’m sorry!” I giggle, dodging another arrow. 

“Sorry my ass!” He calls up, firing three more. The last one plunks into the hard dirt I was standing on, crumbling a corner of the cropping I’m on. It causes a chain reaction, shifting the dirt my boot was resting on. I find myself toppling to the side, plunging straight to the solid stone ground below.

_ “TIID KLO!”  _ I call, falling slower. Bishop finds enough time to position himself under me, thankfully catching me once the shout runs out time. He plonks me onto my feet, letting me straighten myself out for a moment.

“Rude.” I snort. “So how ya doing?” I grin, not expecting the massive punch that I receive to the back of the neck.

“I thought you were captured...you dumbass!” He swipes at me again, hitting air as I duck. 

“Hey, I just got away today!” I plead, dancing out of the way of another punch. “Promise!”

“Why didn’t you send a courier, or come find me, or do anything but hang out here!?” Against my expectations he grabs me by the waist, picking me up and flinging me over his shoulder. “Stupid!”

“Because if I sent a courier, I’d probably be found out again. And if I went to tell you I’m okay, I’d give up my rage of Thonar! I was sitting up there because I want to beat the Oblivion out of him.”

“At least we agree on that.” He groans. I hear footsteps of someone approaching again, facing Bishop. I’m looking down, and can’t see him. But he seems angry. Why is there an angry man walking along after sundown!? The Silver-Blood Inn is open. Anyone with any reason to be angry would be there.

My eyes wander up, landing on someone annoying.

“Hey, Apolinus.” I say meekly, swinging myself off of Bishop’s shoulders. Bishop seems quite confused at first, but at the remembrance of the name his eyes flare open. I’d make fun of him if this guy wasn’t in front of me...

“So you were cheating on me.” He says, half angry, half sad.

“Nope.” I look to Bishop. “What, we’ve been together this entire time and you never told me?”

“Who’d court you?” He scoffs, looking to Apolinus. “She gets so many mercenaries sent after her, I’m surprised she isn’t socially dead.” He pauses. “Oh wait, she is.”

“Hey!” I kick him at the insult, buckling one of his knees. “Yeah, like your hermit ass is any better!”

“At least I can properly communicate. ‘No’ has never seemed to be in your vocabulary.” He says bitterly, looking to Apolinus. “Try walking around a village with her. She’ll take up any old side quest for any bitter old man.”

“You’re a bitter old man, not the people I help.” I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I never cheated on you, and I still need to shoot Thonar in the ass with a flaming arrow.”

“Oh, that’s what you were doing.” Bishop figures for a moment. “Alright, I’ll allow it. I’m still angry, but seeing that damn Paladin falling apart at the seams was really entertaining.”

“Casavir!” I exclaim. “Is he okay!?”

“Yeah.” Bishop grins. “Seemed about to cry, though.”

“Poor guy.” I nod. “I’ll beat up Thonar and we’ll go.”

“What, you’re still angry at Thonar!? For wanting to protect what’s his!?” Apolinus comes back into the conversation, stepping in front of us both. He’s a nord like Bishop, with light brown hair swept to the side, framing his face. I used to always braid a small part of his hair and end it with a glass bead, loving how it caught the light. He had more muscle than Bishop due to years of being a silversmith, but I knew he was gentle. The only time I had ever seen him angered was when he ran me off.

“Huh?” Bishop looks to Apolinus, squinting. “He’s denser than a brick.”

“Hey! Don’t be rude.” I sigh, scratching my head. “He’ll believe whatever.”

“Maybe he has a bounty on you too. Wouldn’t surprise me.” Bishop comments, stepping forward and scrutinizing his face. “What, you want her dead too? Seems like everybody does these days.”

“I don’t think he wants me dead, Bishop.” I say slowly. “And I don’t care what he thinks happened.”

“What I think is nothing. It’s what happened. You stole from the Silver-Bloods, and lied about it!” Apolinus raises his voice, clenching his fists. Wow. Still angry. “You always complained we never had money, and if we just had some we could buy a house and everything would be alright! It’s obvious you stole it, Rowan! How else would you get that amount of coin!? Unless you were stealing it, or got it from some lover, or  _ selling  _ yourself…”

Oh boy.

Apolinus is staring down one of my arrows faster than he can inhale to talk more shit. I usually never lose my temper. Now that I have the remnants of a daedra chilling in my insides, pure, unadulterated rage now feels like an intense burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. The sudden urge to deck Apolinus sweeps back, along with the pent up rage I’ve had since he ran me out of town, the rest of the townsfolk behind him. Didn’t even hear me out. Never even considered believing me. Always stuffing himself in the Silver-Blood’s backside…

**“No! I don’t give a fuck what you think anymore, but let’s get one thing straight, brown nose! I didn’t do anything wrong! I worked for that stupid money, worked my ass off! Where do you think those damn potions I always made went off to!? Some magical fucking dwarf came up and took them!? No! I sold them to the Hag’s Cure, you absolute scumbag! And you never even believed me! Didn’t have the balls to actually go talk to Bothela to even CHECK if my story was right! Thonar took to bothering ME about sleeping with him, because he kept going to the Hag’s Cure when I was just there WORKING and getting potions to fuel his ‘ambitions’ and his wife wasn’t satisfying him! The bastard ordered more Stallion’s potions than a brothel! Bothela, or even Muiri would have vouched for me, but you’re too scared because you think they’re witches! Maybe I should shoot you for being spineless, not believing your fiance, and prioritizing kissing someone’s ass before me! Gods, to think I even considered coming back and making amends with you!”**

All at once I can no longer speak. I feel a fiery burn in the pit of my throat, but it’s definitely not tears. No, something more destructive. Bishop’s on the right of me, near the wall. Apolinus is in front of me. I swing around to the left, looking up into the stars as I just let out the pent up energy in me.

**_“FUS RO DAH!”_ ** I shriek angrily, the silvery circles exiting with the ferocity of a legendary dragon. The crack that came after was ear-deafening; I could see everyone outside immediately covered their ears with a wince. The force shoved everything away from the center of my shout, sending a brief instant of storm winds that uprooted a few of the Juniper bushes along the wall. Apolinus stood speechless, completely awestruck by either my flash of anger or my shout.  **“Fucking hells!”** I yell, getting the last of my anger out.

“Oh and by the way, tell the Silver-Bloods to go fuck themselves. I’m richer than them now,  _ and  _ I’m actually liked by Jarls, not that they would know that feeling.” I know if I let Apolinus speak again I’ll shove a dagger under his third rib. I take to the only thing I know I can do well; falling. I slide down the hillside onto the street below, taking out my bow again and making my way back around to take my post on the mountainside again. Perhaps I’ll shoot Thonar in the ass. Or the throat. Or ass, then throat. That sounds good.

…

“Dude, you’re fucked.” Bishop comments casually. “But kudos on making her angry-I’ve been trying for a month to get a reaction like that out of her!”

“You aren’t….courting her?”

“Nah. For the past year and some she’s been doing dragonborn things. Alone. As in even without a female. I’m the first to travel with her, and I must say, you probably are denser than a star. To even think she was capable of cheating…” He leans against the mountain. “She blushes at fitted armor!  _ Fitted. Armor. _ ”

“Wha..” Apolinus sighs, exhaling. “Gods...This isn’t good.”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” Bishop grins.

“What are you so smug about!?” Apolinus glares at the ranger. “Who are you anyway!?”

“Name’s Bishop, and I’m just excited she’s moved on. Watching her think of you every time I make a move has been irritating.”

“You…” Apolinus steps forward, grabbing Bishop by the straps of his armor. His strength nearly lifts Bishop off the ground, not that it phases him.

“Me!” Bishop winks. “You’ve missed your chance, Casanova. You’re the source that taught her about betrayal, and let me tell you, it’s been difficult to undo your damage.” 

“Fuck off.” Apolinus shoves him roughly down the road. “What right do you have? We’re engaged!”

“Where’s the engagement ring?” Bishop looks to his hands. “Oh, that’s right. Down in some crack somewhere after you threw it. She still has hers, you know. Occasionally looks at it, then puts it down and thinks really hard for a while. Must have been pretty difficult to just rip her heart like that.” Apolinus grits his teeth, planting his feet firmly and swinging at Bishop.

“For being a gentle friend who’d ‘never hurt her’, I’d say you’re secretly pretty violent.” Bishop knocks his fist into Apolinus’s elbow, stopping the punch. “Despite what you did, she still thinks pretty highly of you. Or, at least, thought.”

“Shut your face before I disfigure it, pretty boy.” Apolinus spits. “Stop talking! You’ve only been with her for a month. Well I’ve known her for years! You can’t handle her!”

“I’d say  _ you  _ can’t handle her.” Bishop grins, knowing full well it’ll infuriate Apolinus further. “So afraid to have her stolen from you, so you accuse her of cheating just because of your own insecurity.” 

“Don’t even think you can compare to me...she can’t stand someone as thick headed as you.” Apolinus growls. “It’ll drive you crazy, the way every man looks at her. Even with the scars on her face, as soon as she speaks, cracks a smile, whatever, all their eyes will be on her. Each clutching their stupid amulets of Mara, hoping she comes up to them. Even if she ‘graces’ their presence by bumping into them, you’ll see their eyes drift south and it’ll tear you apart.”

“See, the difference between you and me is I’d compensate by tearing  _ them  _ apart.” Bishop pulls his knife from his belt, flipping it in the air. “I’m a man of action.”

“And I’m a man of realistic expectations. I’m just a silversmith, but her? An oblivious, ex-silversmith dragonborn with no idea what she does to people? Who are you to stand next to her?” Apolinus crosses his arms, stepping back. “She’ll drive you mad. So mad you’ll want to lock her away, so she’ll stop helping Vorstag sharpen his blade, or Rondach get all his ingredients into Understone Keep.” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll manage without tying her up.” Bishop scoffs, backing up to follow Rowan. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lady to go help commit assault.”

“You do that.” Apolinus says, his tone so venomous it could melt the stone they were on. With one last look to the road and river below them he walks off, more fury in his stride.

...

“That’s a serious face you have there, Ladyship.” Bishop slides in behind me. “Also, on an unrelated note, I’m beginning to think you’d make a good cat burglar.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have a thing for finding weird places to hide in.” He looks down at the place we’re on. As of current, the two of us are sitting atop the mountain, dangling our legs off of the sides of this covered hallway. A brazier sits atop here, the coals factoring into my plan. I’m not going to kill him; I feel like that would only increase the attacks on me. But I do have to teach him a lesson.

“Hey Bishop, you have that bounty on me from Thonar, right? The thousand one? Can I use it?”

“Yeah sure.” Bishop takes it out of his pack, handing it to me. “Wait a second…”

“Lying gets you nowhere with me, Ranger.” I tease, referring to our time at Clearspring Tarn.

“Well damn, the little girl isn’t so easily deceived.” He holds up his hands, free of anything. “I gave the same speech to Casavir. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I believe you.” I assure him. “But I still needed the paper.”

“To do what!?” He asks, watching me poke a piece of charcoal out of the brazier. 

“This.” I flip the bounty over, scribbling furiously. 

 

_ Hello Thonar! _

_ As much as it pains me you’re still kicking, I don’t wish to end your life. Yet. The hirelings you sent after me, as cute as they were, came at an inconvenient time and were overall irritating. Not to mention they barely had anything worth taking on them. You shall find the captain of the merry band hanging from a sabre cat snare near Ragnvald. Continue to send mercenaries after me, and your ass is forfeit- and not in the fun way. _

_ -Rowan the Dragonborn, and Thane of Whiterun and Riften _

_ P.S. Tell your wife I said ‘good luck’ now that you’ve built up a resistance to Stallion’s potions. _

 

“Well now that’s just rude.” Bishop looks over my shoulder. 

“Can you shoot a flaming arrow?” I look to his bow. The shelf is a hardened steel, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Sure, you want to deliver the message while I…” Bishop pauses. “Shoot him with fire?”

“Were you seriously trying not to make that sound cliche?”

“Possibly. Knowing you, you’d turn it into a pun.”

“The night’s still young, Bishop.” I grin, patting him on the shoulder. “I have time.”

“Do you now?” He growls. “Then perhaps now is a good time to get you back for scaring me half out of my wits.”

“Bishop...” I turn to him, looking him in the eyes. His rugged face in the light of brazier highlights the many scars he has crossing his lips and on his jawline. “I swear to the divines, do NOT push me off of here.”

“Not my intention.” He says, barely above a mutter.

I can see the tenseness that’s appeared over the past few minutes. He carries the same face he did when he found me on top of the outcropping. I know traveling all the way down here must have been exhausting but…

In all truth, I expected him to just abandon me.

And yet, here he is. Still here.

He went from Solitude to Markarth on probably exhausted horses in less than six days. 

For me? Yeah. For me. Odd.

He cares. God dammit, when he walked up to me I could see the relief flood in. He was scared out of his wits when I was captured. I never...anticipated that. I expected him to shrug off the effort and move on. When has anyone ever done that for me? Apolinus certainly wouldn’t. He never thinks highly of himself; he’d probably just hire someone or wait for the results. And certainly no one else I know would be worried enough to come find me. 

Every time I’ve had a follower or even just someone with me, as soon as we reach a bump in the road they’ve screwed me over. Four times I’ve put my trust in people, only to have them kick me where it hurts and run. The first was Apolinus. Kicked me out of Markarth, you know the story. Because of him and his stupidity, I nearly got eaten by a sabre cat. The huge scar across my cheek tells that story for me. 

The next was a month after figuring out I’m the dragonborn. Someone volunteered to help me get their item out of a crypt. As soon as they saw a draugr they turned tail and ran out the door, accidentally bumping the plank to bar the door. I fought my way to the end, only to discover I couldn’t leave. It took me nearly a day to break through, after blasting the door with what little fire magic I had learned. 

The third was much more blatant. After realizing I only knew conjuration magic, I went to the college of Winterhold to learn. I met a ‘friend’ there, and we both went to some dwarven ruins to investigate a theory she had about the sources of the steam. Naturally, I was the brawn. Deep in the ruins I was cornered, and shouted to get a falmer shadowmaster off of me. Well, she took the new information that I was dragonborn pretty easily, only reacting by selling me out to a bounty hunter as soon as we got back. Did you catch my sarcasm?

The last I’m still feeling the effects from. That dumbass, self-proclaimed warrior Benor told me about a group of vampires he needed some assistance taking care of. We get to the end of the cave and find a damn daedra, and only THEN does he run! Not to mention I was absolutely exhausted from fighting the entire time, as he only fired off a tiny firebolt every minute from forty feet behind me. Once I was alone and trying to fight the damn hell spawn, the thing got a good grip on me and just kind of...slipped into my brain. Which, by the way, reinforces my theory that the brain is like a soul gem, but that’s a different story. It took him three days to adjust to my body, which he was NOT gentle with. He experimented with what pain he could feel by slicing my body as he wished, making me run off things and place buckets on my head, that sort of thing. Only once he got outside did he realize that I was slowly turning into a vampire, and the scorching pain of my flesh burning sparked me back into the driver’s seat.

I’ve never had one of those...intimate diseases, but I’m sure what I experienced was close.

Bishop’s been with me the longest, doesn’t want to hurt me, and is the first to worry about me.

But am I ready to trust him?

Stupid question. He’s taught me to swim, kept me warm, watched my back from ice murderers, and been genuine with me this entire time. He hasn’t tried to use my place as dragonborn, or win anything out of me. Better yet, I enjoy his presence. Karnwyr has a good master, and he’d have to be to win over a wolf. He’s not a pet, the wolf chose to travel with Bishop. I know why now. He’s reliable, and despite the gruff exterior is probably just as anxious about relying on others as I am. 

Come here, Ranger.

Through my moments of thought he’s just been studying my face, his head slightly turned to the side. His soft amber gaze is driving me crazy.

All at once I lose it. Gods forgive me if I make the same mistake I did with Apolinus, but I’m willing to take the risk. I raise myself from the ledge to one knee, taking Bishop’s jaw in my hand and angling him towards me. He’s curious, but trusts whatever I’m about to do. He presses his cheek into my palm, raising his own hand to cover my own.

“Ladyship?” He grins slightly. “I’m starting to think that…”

“Don’t think.” I chuckle, pressing my lips to his. I send us both to the stone roof, settling myself on top of him as I pin him below me. My desires come so naturally with him, I don’t even think about my actions. I nibble on his lower lip, inviting him to act. 

He does. A bit more than I thought he would. He grabs me by the waist, flipping me over so I’m on the ground now, and he’s on top of me. I feel his hips grind into mine, and the smirk on his face grows into a wolfish grin.

“Now, it wouldn’t be a punishment if I’m not doing it.” I feel his impatience grow and his will break. His hands grab my wrists, sliding them away from my body and letting him sink in to take my mouth again. “This is for making me chase you down.” He mutters next to my ear, planting kisses along my neck and collarbone in a row, eventually landing at my waiting lips again. 

I can’t take it. I break my wrists away from his grasp, winding my fingers into his hair and behind his neck to hold him closer. We kiss until I can no longer think; I can’t even comprehend anything than what’s happening right now. He’s toying with me, playing with my mouth as he bites at my lips impatiently and then delves deeper once he feels like it.

We break apart once I’ve run out of breath, and we both open our eyes and stare at one another. He’s grinning as he usually is, with a lupine smirk, and me...as usual….

“You’re the same color as the fire, Ladyship.”

“...Shut up…!” I start, covering my own face in shame. “You know I don’t...do this stuff with anyone…”

“Good to know I’m special.” He says contently, letting me sit up from under him. “Now for that bastard…”

“If I know anything, he should be staggering home drunk any moment.” I say, glad the cool night air is slowly cooling down my cheeks. I grab my bow, nocking the message-laden arrow and return to my vigilance.

Sure enough, Thonar comes waddling up the steps, his walk swaggering with too much mead. 

“That him?” Bishop squints through the darkness.

“Yup. Wait for him to open the door. I’ll shoot him in the ass, you hit him in the back so he runs inside.”

“Again, I’m going to avoid the obvious comment, but know I would have said it.” He lets out a small chuckle. “I like this plan.”

“Yeah, so do I.” I laugh as well, lining up my shot. Bishop breaks the tip off his arrow, wrapping the linen from his torch around the arrow and lighting it. That silver embroidered tunic Thonar is wearing should light like kindling.

“He’s got the door open.” Bishop says, and at once we both fire off our arrows. As I aimed, mine sinks into the left side of his posterior, earning a high pitched squeal. The real entertainment comes when the slower fire arrow hits him with full, fiery fury and nearly launches his drunken body into the house. He staggers for a few steps before falling into his house, and the doors promptly get closed by a maid. “ _ Liar, liar, pants on fire…”  _ I giggle.

A few moments later and Thonar is angrily running out into the streets, waving the arrow I shot him with and screaming like a lunatic. The back of his tunic is heavily singed with parts of it even missing, showing his bald back in its full, shiny glory.

“That probably made him quiver.”

“...Was that a pun?”

“Yes, yes it was.”

“Gods I’ve missed you.”

“Good.” I look over to him, a genuine smile on my face. “Now let’s get out of here before the guards find us. I’m sure Thonar can tell where the arrow came from... This plan really had a bunch of drawbacks.”

“Another pun!?”


	10. Between High Rock and Purewater Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the several parts that will feature explicit sex; if that isn't your cup of tea, you can skip this part.  
> ***Spoilers for those of you skipping***: Rowan advises Casavir to go to the Hall of the Vigilant, and she and Bishop spend the night in purewater run. In the morning they bathe in preparation for the ride to Morthal, later being spooked by the feeling they were being watched. They prep the horses and set off, running into some pseudo-scorpion trouble in the swamps.

“So now what are we doing?”

“...Camping?” I say, looking to Bishop as I untie Ashes. 

“No I meant long term.” He brings Gradient out from the Stables, waiting for me to mount as well. “Like what now.”

“Go back to Solitude, get my money, apologize to Casavir?”

“Hell no.” He replies shortly. “Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll cry a bit, apologize, and try to force a way to travel with us.” Bishop’s countenance turns cold as we hit the road again, the stars lighting our path. We need to camp soon; Purewater Run is nearby. The cave itself is flooded, but the stream leading out is pleasant. “I know him, Princess. No way in Oblivion am I just going to let him waltz into our party and feed you lies about me, and make him look like the gods incarnate!”

“You know, I think you hold him in too low regard.” I say, stopping the horse when we reach the Courier’s post. “I doubt he’d trash your name, Bishop. He just doesn’t seem like the type.”

“No, you think he’s a saint but he’s not. I  _ know  _ he’s not. I’ve  _ seen  _ he’s not.” Bishop says, looking to what I’m doing. “What are you writing?”

“If we aren’t going to Solitude, the least I can do is send him a letter.”

“Oh, great, you can be pen-pals!” He says sarcastically. “Let it go, and don’t contact him.”

“He’d tear himself apart if he thought I died or something on his watch.” I reply dryly. “And, if he can’t travel with us, I know another place he’s needed.”

“A mental ward?” Bishop says hopefully.

“Hall of the Vigilant.” I snap. “The place has been on constant assault by vampires. At this rate it’ll be destroyed. Casavir is just what they need to stop that assault; despite what you said, he’s a great vampire slayer.”

“Oh great. Buffy, yet a lot more righteous and annoying.” His brows furrow as he remembers something about Casavir; tugging at the corners of his mouth to make him frown.

“Who?”

“Nevermind, Ladyship. Send the damn letter. I swear-you think too highly of every damn person you meet. Almost married one of them...” His mutters and swears trail off shortly after.

“...Alright…” I say, ignoring the crack at Apolinus, still searching his face for that hint of uneasiness about the Paladin. “Can I at least hear why you guys have so much bad blood?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to know.”

“Why don’t I need to know?”

“Because you don’t.”

“Now you’re just assuming.” I pout, taking out my charcoal and a few scraps of paper from my bag. “It’s a bit difficult to condemn the Paladin when I don’t know anything about him.”

“He’s annoying, righteous, and not as nice of a guy as you’d think. Or at least he wasn’t. He’s pushed that saintly exterior to everyone to the point where he believes it himself.”

“So basically, he changed.” I giggle. 

“Shut up! Any moment he could snap and just...you know...go back to how he was.”

“Yes. He’d just retrogress into an awful monster.”

“You don’t know who he was before.” Bishop says. “I do. And I say don’t get within five hundred yards of him unless you have an arrow pointed at his head.”

“Bishop.” I say seriously, bringing out one of my spell tomes to press on. “I don’t know who you were before, too. Not that I don’t trust you, but in the beginning you were a bit more hostile than when I first met him.”

“I was being genuine, that’s why!” He says testily. “Write your damn letter so we can move on. We’ll talk while we ride.”

“I dunno, I’m not sure I can talk while my horse is walking.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m only going to do it because writing and talking is actually difficult, but know I don’t want to.” I finally press my charcoal to the paper, scribbling out my message hastily.

 

_ Casavir, _

_ I’m unharmed. I woke up soon after being taken and dispatched the one who caught me, and then rode his horse to Markarth. I’m writing this to you to dispel any fears you had in what’s happened; just know I don’t blame you in the slightest. If anything, I should thank you; I may have had a bigger issue if you hadn’t taken care of the other mercenaries and alerted Bishop. I’ve already addressed the person who put the bounty on me, and I believe I shouldn’t have any more trouble from him. I sincerely apologize for any injuries you sustained while fighting the  _ _ bastards  _ _ sellswords _ , _ and I hope you recover fully soon. I couldn’t bear to think I’ve caused you harm. Go ahead and claim the reward for your own. I know you will not want it, but it will be necessary for your journey. I remember what I was going to tell you when we were attacked by that spider on the road. I do not wish for you to travel with me; not because you are an unsightly person or because of your skills, but I feel that would be cheating Stendarr for your true purpose. South of the City of Dawnstar you should find a sect of the Vigilants of Stendarr. As of recent they’ve had a plague of vampire attacks, spurred by a Lord Harkon I unfortunately failed to defeat fully. Master vampires are quite...hardy when it comes to the rituals it takes to make them stay dead. You will do well there, and once they realize your heart I know they will welcome you with open arms. _

_ Best of luck in your endeavors, Paladin. _

_ -Rowan _

 

“Why don’t you pile on more praise for him, eh?” Bishop looks over my shoulder, scoffing. “Your handwriting is nice, though.”

“Thanks?” I scoff. “And I’m being honest. From what I’ve seen he’s a good guy just looking for purpose.”

“What, you didn’t notice anything odd about him?”

“Yes, I know. He’s not with a temple at the moment.” I sigh. “Kicked out of High Rock for some reason?”

“Yeah. Because they found he wasn’t who he said he was.” Bishop says bitterly.

“Let me just deliver this…” I hop off my horse, walking into the courier house with a bag of gold. I walk back out, relieved someone was willing to take my message. I’m glad the couriers of Skyrim are so good at their jobs; Stendarr protect them. The road is a harsh place to be.

“I’m serious. Don’t even think about going back to see him. Ever.” Bishop warns, waiting for me to mount his horse. “I know you. You’ll be by Dawnstar and will want to swing by. Don’t.”

“Bishop, what were you doing before you came after me?”

“Being a ranger, why? Hunting with Karnwyr, that sort of thing.” As if to prove a point, Karnwyr slinks out of the darkness, joining the party again. “And speak of the wolf.”

“Ah good, he’s back.” I look down at Karnwyr, tossing a strip of jerky down to him. It’s become a natural response to seeing the pup, honestly. 

“And how long were you a ranger for, Bishop?” I spur my horse into motion, heading south.

“A...year or two.”

“And what were you before that, Bishop?” I try not to sound accusatory, but the pieces are beginning to fall into place. He’s very content with taking black-marked bounties given by unsavory people, and his attitude towards situations screams the air of a bandit, or a mercenary. Not to mention his aversion of any legitimate settlement with guards.

“Ladyship, if you keep going, I’ll get angry.” 

“Hey, I’m an open book for you, Ranger. Get mad if you must, but you know everything about me. I believe you reciprocate at least a little. Especially when you’re telling me to preemptively judge someone.”

“Fine! Then don’t listen to me! Think whatever you want to think!” He spits harshly, losing his temper. I’ve struck a nerve with the ranger. Interesting.

“Hm.” I say, looking up to the stars. I trace the constellations lazily, trying to figure out if it’s Hearthfire yet. I’d say so; probably in the second or third week. I’ve been traveling with Bishop for about four months, then. A bit more than that.

“You’re going to keep going, aren’t you.” He accuses. “What are you thinking in that head of yours!? Say something, by the Gods!”

“What, you want me to react? I thought you told me to think whatever I wished.” I grinned slightly. He thought I was making assumptions about what he was instead of figuring out the date. Silly man. Yet charming, in its own way. He’s afraid I’m going to make a bad guess and drift away from him again.

I wouldn’t though. I don’t care about then, I care about now. As long as he isn’t deceiving me, which I’m quite sure he isn’t, everything is still fine despite his fears. I don’t care if he was mercenary; he isn’t now. So as far as I’m concerned, mercenary Bishop and the man I’m traveling with are completely different people.

“You drive me crazy, you know?” He sighs, smoothing his hair back. “What occupation of mine are you blowing out of proportion?”

“You were a mercenary, right?” I look over to him, a grimace on my face. Sure, that’s fine. I guess. Doesn’t sit well with me at first, but I can accept it. Times can be hard; I don’t like the occupation at all, but there are a few who truly don’t want to do it yet have to. Vorstag, an old friend of mine, fell on hard times now. I know he’s been hired out a few times, and although he limits who he helps, he’s been desperate for coin ever since he failed to set up his own shop. Perhaps I could invite him to become a blade, or maybe a companion. He was a good friend to me back when I was younger, though I don’t know if the sentiments have lasted throughout the years. Certainly I could stand Bishop.

“Ladyship…” He starts after a long pause.

“Hey, it’s alright. Better to know than assume.” I shrug. “I’m fine with it, as long as you’re not going to take a hundred coin to shove a dagger through my ribs.”

“I wouldn’t…” Once he realizes I’m joking, the tension in the air disperses, earning a light chuckle. “They’d have to pay me at least a few thousand.”

“Yeah?” I grin. “So how about Casavir, then?”

“Him too.” Bishop nods. “He traveled with us for a while. Strong, silent type that didn’t speak much. We gave him a task, he did it. Even seemed to really enjoy himself, if that made any sense. I think he was raised like that, with those kinds of people. One day he seemed to have a revelation after a particularly bad raid, and he told us he found the Gods and wandered off. Not soon after I broke off too we met again, and he tries to kill me. So yeah, I don’t like the guy.”

“So I’ve heard.” I summon a candlelight as we enter the forest. “Well, if I gave you a chance, I think I can give him one too. I know you don’t like him, but I don’t hold any ill will towards the man.”

“Ladyship, you look like you’ve just realized something.” Bishop looks over, raising an eyebrow. “What happened at that damn cave?”

“He was pretty brutal with the vampires. Not that it’s wrong, but I suppose he hasn’t lost his mind. Just channeling that anger into something good.” I shrug. “Perhaps...he was raised as cattle or thralled by a vampire? I suppose it’ll be a mystery.”

“Suppose so. Let’s leave it that way.” Bishop sighs. “Last thing I want is to feel bad for the huge walking kettle.”

“Well, I’m just saying, the possibility is high.” I dig through my pack, pulling out a piece of paper. “Remember when you asked me what we’re doing?”

“Yes, yes I do. Please tell me it’s not a crypt.” His gaze follows my hands, gripping a battered slip of paper. “What is that?”

“Treasure map!” I hand it to him. “We should find where this is!”

“VI. Six.” He flips it over, looking at the rough sketch. “Gods, did a child do this?”

“Probably.” I nod. I mean, I did find it on that guy who kidnapped me...

“Damn! It looks like a crypt.” He studies the paper more. It has a series of arches found in the nordic dwellings, along with a scraggly tree on one of the arches and tall trees in the background. A cross mark denotes the treasure at the base of the small tree. It’s an odd looking crypt, with multi-tiered stairs going up to each arch and the entrance being a small door instead of the huge iron barricades the ruins usually have. 

“Where are you thinking?” I take the map back from him, refreshing my candlelight spell. “I’m thinking it’s somewhere in the Pale.”

“What makes you say that!?” He says. “It’s just a bunch of scribbles!”

“Bishop, where can you find those scraggly-looking trees, that never seem to grow any leaves?” I let him think for a moment. “The Tundra Marsh. So it’s either the Pale, or the southern edge of Winterhold.”

“Nice deduction, Sherlock.”

“Who is that?”

“Dunno. But I guess that’s as good of a lead as any.” He sighs. “Where are we going anyway?”

“...Morthal?” I raise an eyebrow.

“No, right now.” 

“Oh. Purewater Run. It’s just down the hill here.” 

“Ladyship, there’s a forsworn camp not too far from here...we shouldn’t just sleep there.” 

“Oddly enough, that camp keeps to itself. I was wary of it too, but it’s one of the few forsworn settlements content with no slaughtering everyone. It won’t attack us.”

“Suspicious.” He mutters. “I’ll trust you, but I’m going to be wary.”

“Hey, I’ve stayed here before. Nirnroot grow in here.”

“It always comes back to alchemy, doesn’t it.” He grins.

“Of course!” I say testily. “I’ll go in tomorrow. There’s a waterfall in there, we can bathe in the morning. For now, I’m a bit tired. The drug they used on me hasn’t exactly gotten out of my system.” Bishop hesitated for a moment, remembering what’s happened to me the past week. Anger seemed to flare up again, but at the sight of me next to him the flames quelled slightly. I guess he made that six day trip on nothing but rage. I’m thankful he was willing to go that far for me; it’s a comforting fact. Mercenary or not, I’m content with him by my side.

We reach the stream, and both of us dismount our horses and slide to the ground. I only remove my bedroll, slinging it onto the ground and falling atop it. There’s only a bit of flat ground; the stream is surrounded by stacks of rocks on both sides. It’s an inconvenient spot, but it’s the best we have that I know is safe.

“I can take first watch. We don’t need a fire.” I say, looking up to the stars. It’s a full moon and a clear sky, and I can see well enough. 

“No, you’re going to sleep.” Bishop says stubbornly. “Me and Karnwyr can look out. I don’t want you collapsing because of whatever drug they gave you…” He growls at the end. “You didn’t tell me about that, by the way.”

“It was just a simple potion. Probably with imp stools or canic root or something.” I shrug. “I’ll be alright. I have a pretty good tolerance for poisons, and...”

“Wasn’t a question, Ladyship.” He throws his own bedroll so it overlaps mine, lying down on his own. It’s warm enough that we don’t need to nestle under the covers. He takes advantage of that by invading part of my bedroll, pulling me into his grasp and whistling for Karnwyr to join us. The wolf rests at our feet, his golden eyes watching us from the other side of our bedroll. I have to admit, I think he can sense what’s going on between us. Smart wolf.

“Bishop…” I whisper, trying to set up another attempt to take the first watch.

“Nope. Sleep.” He dips his head to mine, taking my lips to his. I accept it, wrapping my arms around his neck and waist, pulling myself to him as our legs entertwine. “I’ll take payment like this.”

“Whatever.” I giggle as we part, giving him a short kiss in return and pressing myself into his shoulder. The rhythm of his breath lulls me into a dreamless sleep soon after, in the safety of his watch. 

…

“Sun’s up.” Bishop comments, waking me up. “Come on, ladyship, let’s get moving. There have been people moving at that camp all night, and it’s making me nervous.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s just bathe and leave.” I get up from my bedroll, straightening my tunic. “Let me grab those nirnroots, and then we can.”

“...Alright?” He says skeptically, standing up with me. I pick up my pack from under 

Karnwyr’s head, rustling him from slumber and making him emit a high pitched whine. He follows my steps into the cave, the light making us both squint to adjust. 

As I said, it’s a flooded cave with a waterfall in the back, surrounded by a few nirnroot plants. Fish swim happily in the pool, with a few slaughterfish lurking in the deeper part to our left. They shouldn’t be any trouble as long as we don’t go down there.

“So even in a place like this, there’s still a waterfall. What are the odds of that?”

“Don’t you mean  _ water  _ the odds?”

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

I wade across to where the waterfall is, carefully plucking the nirnroot from the moist dirt. I place my pack next to the waterfall, pulling out the small pouch that contains my nirnroots. I place them inside lovingly, packing them back and pulling out two vials. I stand up again, turning around to a fully nude Bishop under the waterfall. 

“Your clothes!” I screech, turning back around so fast I fall on my behind in the water. “Bishop! Cover yourself!” 

“Why? You said we’re going to bathe…” He says innocently. “Oh come on, you have to stop being a little girl sometime.” 

“No! I mean, yes, but not...shut up.” I stand up, calming myself and handing him the bottle without turning around. “Put it in your hair, it’s to wash it.” 

“Thanks?” I hear him uncork the bottle, inspecting the contents. “You’re pretty handy to have around.”

“Yes, because I can make hair products.” I chuckle, moving to head out of the cave. He grabs me by my tunic, whirling me around to face him again. I make a move to step back, realizing his grip has moved to my waist, holding me so I’m forced to stare into his face. I struggle slightly, trying to break his grasp and play it off, but I can’t seem to make him let go.

“Ladyship.” He says, forcing my gaze back to him from the cave wall. “Look at me.”

“I can’t!” I try and push him away. “I will when you put some clothes on!”

“Oh come on, I’m not going to do anything.” He tugs off my tunic, throwing it to safety on my pack. “Pants, off.”

“No…” I say reluctantly.

“You were fine in the lake!”

“And that just turned out splendid, didn’t it!?” I argue, trying to step back.

“Gotta grow up sometime, Ladyship.” He grins, undoing the string on my smallclothes. 

“Stoppit!” I call as it falls into his hands. He throws that away too, back on my tunic.

“I’m not going to do anything; but really, you need to quit being so modest.” He laughs. “Come on, take off the pants.”

I pause for a moment, weighing my choices. Suppose it can’t hurt, can it? He’s said he won’t do anything. Damn, but I know he will. 

I hop out of my breeches, eventually stripping off the rest of my clothing at once. The fresh air streaming in from the cracks in the rock feels nice; my body could use a nice clean. I walk over to my pack, digging through the contents in an attempt to find my washing cloth. It’s at the side pocket? Or pressed against the bottom? 

Speaking of things pressed against my bottom, I can feel Bishop’s gaze burning a hole through me. My face just heats up more; if the stupid boy wants to stare, so be it. I’m sure he’s seen his share of ladybits. I grab the cloth in my hand, dunking it into the water quickly and turning around without warning. I hurl the cloth into his face, swatting it into his eyes with a wet thump.

“Harsh.” He grins, pulling the washcloth off his face. “This is mine now.”

“Hey!” I call, running over to where he is and trying to grab the bit of cloth. Kind of need that to wash myself. I jump up to catch it out of his grasp, and he yanks it out of reach and catches my by the waist. His hands slide down my sides, hooking an intimate area and hauling me to him. All at once he settles down, eyes staring at the entrance to the cave.

“Hey…” I say testily. My entire front is pushed on his chest, the contact is lighting my entire body on fire. I look down at myself; pressed against his chest like this. I can’t even believe it. And I’m...slightly alright with it, oddly enough.

“Hush.” He says quietly, setting both of my feet on the ground and sweeping my behind him, now pressing me to his back. His eyes dart to his knife sitting on the edge of the pool, along with his bow and quiver. “Hm.”

“What is it?” I come out from behind him, holding my chest firm with a forearm. He glances down at me, at my arm, and back at me, then to the entrance as if something is watching us. “What?”

“I heard something.” He shrugs it off. “I guess it was that wolf of mine. Karnwyr probably got curious.”

“Probably.” I laugh. “No need to try and be a macho man; I can protect myself, you know…” 

“Not when you’re still poisoned. Even with being resistant, I’m not risking it. Now then…” His eyes search my all over, resting on my blushing face as I pretend like I don’t notice. I pick up my cloth from the surface of the water, wetting it in the waterfall and washing my face. He joins in next to me, pouring the contents of the bottle I gave him on his head, rubbing his scalp roughly to rub it in. 

“Smells like rosemary.” He comments.

“That’s because there’s some in there.” I look up to his head, giggling at the suds. “Along with other things.” I uncork my own bottle, washing it through my own locks. To rinse it out I close my eyes and step into the waterfall, and I suppose he was waiting for me to do such a thing. His hands yank me backwards onto the side of the pool, landing with a soft thud on the mossy ground. He pins me down, the muscles in his chest and arms rippling as he holds himself above me.

“What in Oblivion was that for?” I ask, noticing the thing in between his legs. Mara help me.

“You know what you do to me, Ladyship.” He says bluntly. “For the love of everything, you make me burn and it’s so agitating it makes me want to rip something. I want you, you want me, simple as that.” 

“Bishop, I…” I cover my face with my hands, feeling him wrench them away.

“Bishop nothing. Nothing will come from this, I told you. I promise; you have my word. No stupid feelings, no bullshit promises, just me and you.” 

“You and I.”

“Yes, Ladyship.”

“No, I was just fixing your grammar.” I grin, pushing up into him to take his lips again. “Bishop, I have a proposition.”

“A...proposition?”

“I’ll help you right now.” I force myself to make eye contact with his erection, looking back into his eyes. “But I won’t sleep with you...until you beat me in a fight.”

“What?” His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “What’s that request!? Don’t just say stupid things, Ladyship!” 

“I’m not. Entirely serious.” I grin, flipping him over on his stomach. I firmly grasp his erection, surprised by the grunt he gives out. Once again, he’s pent up and I’ve never noticed. It seems to be a recurring theme with me. 

“Fine. But be warned, when I want something, I’ll do whatever to take it. You, unfortunately, happen to be that thing.” He mutters out. He’s just trying to be tough, but I literally have him by the balls here. He’s in a sorry state; if left alone for much longer he may have had to just help himself or go crazy.

“So be it.” I smirk, pressing my mouth to the top of him. He grunts again, all too eager to be touched. I slide my hand up him, adding the second as I kiss along the length. My fingers run along the length, taking in just how...much of him there is. 

“Rowan...Gods…” He squeezes his eyes shut, looking away himself.

“What, you’re getting embarrassed now?” I laugh, losing my own embarrassment. If it’s him, it’ll be alright. This is the least I can do after he’s done so much for me, even if he doesn’t know it. “You’re the one who said no feelings. Though, I’m not exactly sure that may last.” I stroked him lightly, doing my best to run a hand along the base of his chest as I pleased him. Every time I touched him it seemed to sensitize him; he squeezed his eyes shut and cracked them open to look at me, as if trying his best to make it last.

“Ladyship…” 

“Bishop, just go.” I laugh lightly, dragging my mouth up the side. “It’s alright, just go ahead.” All at once he releases, and along with the obvious, the pent up tension in his body evaporates. He heaves a sigh, arms weakly by his side. I wash my hands in the pool under us, 

“I...needed that.” He sits up, breathing heavily. “You’re...not blushing.”

Well damn, just point it out. At his words I feel my cheeks heat up unwillingly; although I’m fine with the events that occurred my face has other ideas. 

“Once again, a stoic face that’s as red as coals.” He laughs.

“Now we really have to rinse off…” I say, looking down at my front.

“Suppose so.” He stands up, helping me to my feet as well. With a steady hand he pulls me into the waterfall, letting the water rush over us for what seemed like hours. I was content with how this went. I could do that much for him if it’d be a comfort; but someday I’m sure I’d be ready. We’ll see.

We both emerge from the cave much more bold with each other than before, and with a very sly looking wolf looking at us from atop our bedrolls. He knows.  _ HE KNOWS! _

“I suppose we keep going.” He says finally, adjusting his pants after drying himself. 

“Morthal, here we come.” I nearly groan. Nothing but Chaurus and spiders everywhere, plus necromancers trying to snap your bones. But there’s treasure somewhere over there, and that’s what matters.

“Look alive, Ladyship. The hagravens are less likely to steal you away if you look troublesome.”

“So they’ll go after you?”

“They only go after women.”

“...So they’ll go after you?”

“Harsh.” He comments, packing his bedroll up onto Gradient. I do the same with Ashes, who's been all too happy of my return. The gal stamps around madly when I approach, nuzzling her head into my hands once I present them. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, mounting Gradient. I haul myself up onto Ashes’s saddle, joining him by his side as we go across the stream. Karnwyr pads behind us, tongue lolling out of his mouth in contentment. We have a long ride ahead of us, but for the most part it should be pleasant. 

….

It’s not pleasant! Not pleasant at all! Gods!

So many stupid chaurus! And they’re everywhere!? Where the hell are they coming from!?

“This is why we shouldn’t listen to you for directions!” I squeal, hurling another fireball at a hunter.

“Hey, It  _ would  _ be faster if we didn’t keep getting attacked!” He snaps. We’ve gotten off our horses and have taken to protecting them as we slowly meander our way through the swamps. Bishop took one look at the map and plowed us through the heart of this ungodly place, reassuring me it’d be find as long as it’s day. Now it’s nearly night time and all hell has broken loose. 

“Shut up and keep shooting!” I summon a flame atronach for the third time in the past hour, running out of magic immediately as I do so. Together, the four of us take down the remaining unholy bugs with little grace in our step. I have scratches all over me, Bishop has poison on his leg, and Karnwyr is...still just happy to be here.

“Bishop, prop yourself up. I need to treat you.” I say quickly, resting him against a log. “Karnwyr, you make sure nothing gets close.” I whistle to call the horses back to us, straddling Bishop’s bad leg to hold it still. I survey the damage, wincing at what I find. Lacerations all down and up his legs from the pincers, now a deep and fiery red from the poison.

“Are you lightheaded?” I ask, looking to him. He looks ready to fall over and give up; his eyes are nearly closed and he only nods slowly at my response. 

“Here, cure poison.” I say, handing the bottle to him. He refuses, shaking his head side to side.

“Gross…” He says quietly. He’s delirious. 

“Bishop! Take it!” I urge, pressing it into his palm. He’s acting like a drunkard; probably just about to slip into unconsciousness. This entire mess makes me want to beat him silly. I only think of one thing to do at the moment; force him to drink it. I kick back the bottle myself, waiting a few seconds before pressing my mouth to Bishop’s and forcing him to down the potion. I hear him breathe a sigh of relief and then slowly begin moving again, his eyes flaring open as we part.

“Awake now?” I chuckle.

“Yes.” He replies, scratching his neck. “What are you doing?”

“...summoning a daedra?” I drag a cloth across the wounds of his legs, removing the poison on the surface. He grunts when it brushes against the wounds, making him tense up at the contact and release it once the cloth has gone by. Gods I hate chaurus. I hover my hands above the surface, pressing all my magic through it. I don’t have much left; I seem to be having trouble regenerating lately. “I’m going to need you to talk to me this entire time. You can’t sleep, Bishop.” 

“I mean, you say that, but I am damn tired.” He comments, stretching out on the log. He catches a glimpse of the concern on my face, quickly putting my fears at rest. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep talking.”

“Okay.” I say, relieved. “So… how much farther do you think until Morthal?”

“Can’t be far now.” He says, peering over at what I’m doing. “Ladyship? Are  _ you  _ okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?” My head pops up to face him. Only then do I realize there’s sweat on my brow, along with other things. Things like...

“Your hands are trembling.”

“So they are.” I say. “I  _ am  _ knitting your flesh back together.”

“Yes but…” He pushes his leg out of my grasp. “You need to heal yourself! Gods, look down!”

“Wha?” I look down, seeing a trickle of red on the front of my armor. There’s a huge gash from my shoulder to my elbow, leaking blood like a river. “Yikes!” I down a healing potion, waiting for the icy irritation on my arm to fade, as it soon does. 

“Let’s get back on the horses and make a break for it.” He says finally. “We’re not going to make it through the night at this rate.”

“Got it.” I say, standing up and helping him to his feet. “Let’s go.” I summon a candlelight, searching around for any more chaurus. When I find none, we both get on our horses, waiting for Karnwyr to circle around Bishop. We spur the horses suddenly, willing ourselves to plummet through the swamp.


	11. Uncovered Treasure and Buried Meanings

“Lights!” I say giddily, pointing to the streetlamps of Morthal.

“Good.” He sighs. “Moorside inn is as good as any.”

“I need to sleep for a few hundred years.”

“Sleeping beauty, eh? You’re missing one important aspect.”

“Go fuck yourself, I’m pretty enough.”

“I was going to say dwarves. The dwemer have been extinct for a while, Ladyship.” He grins slyly. “Now let’s get into that inn.”

“They don’t have stables.” I comment. I’ve been here before to cure myself of vampirism; it’s a pretty shite city. Only good thing is that everything is cheap, and the wizard Falion here is a fellow conjuration student. That stupid guy, Benor, lives here too. The one who’s the reason I’m possessed by a damn daedra.

“They’ll stay around the inn.” He says finally.

“If you say so…” I roll my eyes, displeased by the answer. We finally ride into town, making a beeline straight for the inn. I bust open the doors, expecting a warm hearth and boisterous laughter. Instead, I’m met with embers burning lowly and only a few solemn people on opposite sides of the inn, drinking as if it was their duty.

“Two rooms, and a few bottles of whatever you have.” Bishop says, dropping twenty gold. “And is there anywhere to bathe, and put our horses?”

“There’s a pen out back…” The innkeeper, a female redguard, says. Bishop looks to me, nodding quickly and exiting again to go attend to the horses. I suppose the nod was for me to stay here.

I plonk myself down at a table, swiveling around to face the rest of the inn. The bottles come to me safely, and I contemplate whether or not I should wait for Bishop. I suppose not, seeing as he’s coming through the door now. To signal him I flap my hand slightly, catching his attention with a half smirk.

“Well now.” He sits down next to me. “We’re probably scaring the populace.” 

“I don’t think so.” I stare at the back of the people’s heads around us, seeing if I can force them to turn around. “You take a bath first, and go easy on the leg.”

“Will do. Want to join me?”

“Remember, fight me first.” I smirk. “Then we’ll see.”

“So harsh, Princess.” He heads to the bathing room, looking to me. He scans the main hall, letting out a slight chuckle. “Don’t find some young lad to run off with, you hear?”

“Darn, you know me too well.” I roll my eyes. There’s no one in here who doesn’t look to be under forty, save for the barkeep. The bottle barely seems to reach my lips before it’s empty again. I grab another, doing the same; I chew on my lip as I reflect on what’s happened.

So a ruin with arches and a lockroom. That’s pretty specific for a ruin. Wonder if the barkeep would know.

“Hey, I have a question about something.” I find no harm in showing her the map. I pull it out, setting it on the table. “Does this look familiar to you? I believe it’s a ruin in the pale, but nearby.”

“I wouldn’t know, then. Though I do know that all the ruins south of here don’t look like that.” She says hastily, trying her best to help. “I’m sorry, that’s all I can give you.”

“Not a problem.” I slide a few gold across the bar. “Thank you very much.”

“Let me see that…” I hear a voice behind me. I know this one.

“Benor…” I nearly growl, turning around.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about what happened, alright? But it looks like you made it out okay…”

“You know this place?” I hold up the map.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Where is it?”

“You paid her, gotta pay me too.” He says indignantly. 

“Hey Benor.” I crack my knuckles. “I’m still a little too pissed to be throwing coin your way.”

“Yeah, what, you want to fight it out?” He sets his hammer down against the hearth, raising his own fists. “I’m ready to defend myself, Dragonborn.”

“I’ll just beat the location out of you. More fun like that.” I raise my own hands. He tries to be smug and swings first, letting me dance out of the way with ease and slug him across the jaw. From my space I see the bathing room door open, reveal a confused Bishop.

Oh well. 

He takes the hit pretty well, staggering back slightly before swinging out. I move out of the way, accidentally taking a slight hit to my ribs. Small price to pay to keep my face like this. I grab his outstretched arm, bashing it out of commission for a few seconds while I jabbed his jaw. His face rears back, letting me get a second punch in to his temple. 

He recovers slightly, clipping my chin only a little. He really sucks at fighting.

I step back out of the way of another punch, ducking a second. He’s angry, and grasping at the sloppiest straws possible. His footwork is something to cry at.

A last swing comes my way, and I take the opportunity to smash the palm of my hand into his inner arm. It swivels away for me, letting me wind up one last time and pack every ounce of strength I have into smiting this poor guy onto the floor. My fist connects with his temple, slamming him into onto the floor.

“Tell me or you’re going to take a nap in a moment.” I crack my knuckles, stepping over him. I pull the paper from my belt, bending at the waist to give him another look.

“Korvanjund.” He says slowly. I think I hit him hard enough where he’s too disoriented to get up; whoops! 

“Thanks.” I return to Bishop at the table, falling into the bench and grabbing another bottle of ale.

“Nice punches.”

“I always liked tavern fights.” I say idly, sipping on my third ale. “Bath still warm?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.” He pauses. “What’d he tell you?”

“Korvanjund.”

“Why’d you fight him, then?”

“That’s the guy who screwed me over with the daedra.” He nods in knowing, squinting at Benor, still kneeling on the floor. Jonna the barkeep looks less than sympathetic to his plight; just shaking her head with a slight smirk. The man is all talk and no bite. He royally screwed me over with the vampires; I can only assume he’s done the same to others.

“That bard...is absolutely awful.” Bishop comments, looking at Lurbuk. He’s a large orc who dwarfs his lute, and whose ballads sound like bat screeches. I’m questioning if he actually graduated the Bard’s college. “He was on break before...I think he should stay there.”

“I’m going to retreat to the baths. Enjoy your musical hell.” I grin, slinking into the bathhouse portion of the inn. Ah, naked bliss.

I come out from the bath clean and refreshed, and free from much of anything. Clean clothes is included in that list. I wrap myself in a towel, quietly cracking open the door and motioning for Bishop to come in. He does, a curious grin on his face as he enters.

“No, nothing sexual.” I say first and foremost.

“Darn.” 

“I think I have a clean tunic in my pack somewhere. Can you go get it?” Once he realizes I’m not wearing a shirt, his gaze immediately switches from my face to the towel. 

_ “Damn.” _ I hear him mutter. “Perhaps I should make you sit here all night…”

“Bishop, I’m totally cool with just walking across the tavern with this towel.” I raise an eyebrow. “Try me, Ranger. It’s not that embarrassing.”

“Yeah yeah. Quit being a killjoy.” He mumbles, heading out the door. In a few moments he’s returned, but not with what I expected. One of his own tunics is in his hand, a soft green one.

“What.”

“I couldn’t find yours!” He says indignantly. 

“Now I’m going to smell like you!”

“That an issue?”

“Damn, now I’m really not going to be able to run off with that young lad.” I take it from him, hiding behind the dividers as I pull up my holding cloth. The tunic really does smell like him; of dense cedar and lush grass. I pretty much drown in it; when I emerge from the dividers the sleeves are hanging over my wrists and the shirtail is halfway down my thighs. 

“What, do I look ready for a ball now?”

“Certainly.” He grins, looking at my struggle in the sea of fabric. I roll up the sleeves as best I can, buckling my belt into place so it doesn’t hand off of me so strangely.

“This is mine now.” I stick out my tongue, copying him.

“Hey, it’ll keep the other guys away.”

“In that case…” I make like I’m going to take it off, pleased at the frown. “Oh, and speaking of going against what you said, we could swing by the Hall of the Vigilant. We’ll be near it; check up on Casavir and all that.”

“ **No** .” He snaps. “No way in hell!”

“I’m just teasing! Calm down!” I giggle. “I will send him a letter, though. Ask if there’s anything we can do.”

“Why!? Just let the hunk of metal handle things himself. Loudly.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be a good fit for the team, I suppose.”

“Yep. You and I are stealthy, he’s not.” He seems relieved I find a reason not to let the Paladin come with us; I can’t tell if it’s concern or jealousy. Perhaps both.

“At any rate, I think I need to take a six hour nap.” I say finally. “Or did you want to stand here for a few more hours?”

“Nope, I agree with you. You need all the beauty sleep you can get.” He says, face unchanging. Well then.  
“I think you need it more than I do. If the common wenches don’t gawk at you, I feel you’d be too depressed to fight.” 

“I don’t think there’s a decent gal around here for miles.” He shrugs. “The barkeep looks nice, but a bit too plain for me.”

“What, you like the ones with a pretty face and large busts?”

“Well…” He looks away from my face. “You meet one of the requirements?”

“My Gods, Bishop.” I roll my eyes. “I get it, I don’t fit your parameters. Now then, I’m going to go pass out on a mattress for a few hours and hallucinate.”

“Ladyship, that’s called sleeping.”

“So be it!” I slip out of the door, finding my own room and faceplant on the bed. Ah, sweet sleep. 

…

“So, we’re going to stick to the roads this time, right?” I ask a guilty Bishop as we climb up onto our horses.

“Yes.” He grunts.

“No shortcuts, right?”

“Yes, no shortcuts.” He sighs. “Just thought it’d be faster. Which, it was, technically.” He looks over to me, frowning at my stifled chuckles. “Shut up, Ladyship.”

“Let me deliver this letter to a courier, and we’ll be off.” I bring out my scrap of parchment that I hastily sealed. I have no seal ring, so I actually pressed the wax to a bit of my armor for a dragon skin imprint. I’ll have to remember to get something along those lines made. I don’t have a family crest, so this would be a good time to make one!

“Anyway I can read that?” He asks, looking over to the parchment. “Darn.”

“No way in Oblivion!” I snap, heading over to the Jarl’s longhouse. The courier’s lodgings are just beside it; I slip it under the door awkwardly. It’s quite early in the day, and I wouldn’t wish to wake them up. Their job is difficult as is without a rude traveler waking them.

“Let’s head out.” I pull out my map. “I asked around; Korvajund is to the east, smack in the middle of the southern part of the Pale.”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “So it’ll take a few days.”

“Why, you have somewhere to be?” His gaze falls on me, to my hair and eyes. What the hell is he staring at?

“Nope.” He says at last.

“We’ll be passing under the Hall of the Vigilant. I brought it up last night because we may be able to stay there for the night, completely safe…”

“Nope.”

“Fine. Just sounds like a good idea to me.” I huff. “Either way, the path should be pretty free from anything not an animal.”

“Let’s get going, Ladyship. I hate this place; everyone feeling so sorry for themselves. It’s disgusting.”

“Ouch.” I say, looking around. It was a depressing place; the war hadn’t even affected it at all. It was strategically isolated, and the economy was as sluggish as a horker. It was a dead end for all the souls here. “I’d argue...but you’re right.”

“Ride.” He commands, spurring his own horse. “We’ll go as far as we can.”

…

Two days, and it’s been nearly nothing. Only a few spiders or skeevers. I saw the remnants of a necromancer’s experiments, but that was about the most interesting thing to happen. We’re about a day’s ride from Korvajund, and it’s nearly night. The low light here makes me feel as if night is already upon us; only the absence of the torchbugs tell me otherwise.

“Ladyship.” I look over to Bishop, still in his armor even though we’ve stopped. Granted, I am too, but I prefer to stay like this.

“Yes?” I turn to him, watching with a hollow gaze as he grabs his knife. “Oh boy.”

“You said a fight; a fight is what it’ll be.” He grins. “You’re only going to give yourself to someone strong? That’s really an odd thing, coming from you, Princess.”

“Gotta check them out first, you know.” I grin, feeling slightly irked by his attitude. The true meaning of this test just flew over his head; the fool. I won’t let him win. “Now then. First to draw blood, yeah?”

“If you say so. And no shouting; that just isn’t fair.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” I strip off my armor, revealing my tunic and breeches. 

“What’s that for?” He asks, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Preparing for my win?”

“Nah.” I say finally. “Bishop, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of fighting me when I’m actually invested in winning.”

“It seems like I haven’t had a lot of pleasures with you.” He says, venom lacing his words. I frown; I’m not sure I enjoy what he’s becoming. I’ve opened the door to my fortress slightly to hear what he’s had to say, and the man is trying to stick his foot in the door and bust it down. Not yet. I’m not ready; and he still has a ways to go himself. This fucker..

Damn, and I was just thinking he wasn’t going to be bad for me. I give him an inch and he wants to take a mile; and he’s apparently amped up his asshole attitude along the way. Good luck, ranger. Perhaps I’ll beat some sense back into you. You had just begun to change for the better.

“Well then, Ranger.” I return to my cold self, steeling my gaze as a I glare openly at him. “Try and get me.” My words twist into a benign growl, challenging on the surface and spiteful underneath. This is how it’s going to go down.

He’s visibly shaken at my words. Probably surprised at how I’ve returned to my icy state like when we first met. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Bishop. He’s trying to toy around with me, and I’m going to land him so hard on his ass the dwarves will wake up. 

Two swords appear in my hands, and I crack my shoulders in preparation to use them to their full extent. Bishop grips his knife tightly, holding it in front of him as his eyes wander along my figure, trying to determine what I’ll do next.

Now for the tricky part. Despite my cold exterior, the daedra in me is desperately trying to claw at Bishop. I can control the fucker, I know I can. But the question is how.

  
  


J̏ͫ̈́͑̇̉́̆ͤ͏͈͈͙̱͍̬̳̫u̬̣͂͑s̆͏̧͈̘̞͇̮̘̦ͅt̡̻̣͍̜̳̩̳͍͐̽ͮ͜ ̆̍̌҉̸͕͙̭͇ͅl̵̨̺̪̮̠̖ͨ̽́̆ͪ͐͊e͙͙͈̱̜̾̀ͅͅt̳̦͌̄ͦ̊ͥ̒ͦ ̰̳͈͚͖͚̘̫͂̈́̆̐ͥ͂͊͝m̒͑҉̵̟͍̥͔̭̲̱͙͟ẹ̤ͪͣ͗́ ̹̫̩͎̰͉̘͓̗ͬ͐̌̽̆̀g̖̘̠̝̖̮͕̯̉̉̐̋ͥȏ̴͍͒ͩ̿͝  It whispers. Í̥̦̫̖̌̃̓ ̷̸̱͚͚̠͍̞̟͂̍ͭw̶͖̖ͫͧ̍͂͗͐͞o̸ͤ͊ͪ̍̂͠҉̭͕̘̞n̸̥͉̼̙͆ͧ̉̔̏̅̆̐́'̩͍͖͔̮̗̱͈͋̿͛̇͋̾͡͞t̶̪͓̳͗̆̃̿͌̆ ̪̻̔̔ͭ̅k̪̟̖͎ͩ̏͜i̬͓̮̗͛ͬ̀ͮ̒ͫ̚ͅl̡͕͍̹̼͇̎̀ͅl̷̯̙̜̻ͨ̌̓̚ ͕̪ͤ̄t͙̻͚̬̥̍͢ͅh̢͔̼͈̹̥̭͂ͭ͆̾̾ͪęͮ͂̂̀҉̗̮̰͍̪ ̛̘̜̖́͋̌̆̒͛̇̓̔ͅf̴̧̣̫͎̖͍̟̥̞̺ͦo̊̀̍҉̷̼͚̘̬̪̭̯o̼͓̤̾̿l̴̤͕͈̠̯̗ͥ́̉̃ͅ

  
  


“Yes, but I only need you to draw blood. And not very hard.” I reply shortly. “Despite that, you can help me scare him if you wish. I won’t beat him by letting you take over.”

“ _ Scare him _ ?” The voice calms down, becoming clear. “ _ I suppose that will have to do _ .” 

“Oh come on, the only thing you’re doing for me is taking away my restraints. I’m still deciding how I’m going to beat him.”

“I make you make you realize your potential.” The daedra purrs. “ _ That’s why I’m still here. I can do no more in this state.” _

“Alright, quit talking and let’s go. I’m going to focus on knocking that knife of his away, you just give me the rage to do it.”

“As you wish.” I can feel it grin, ebbing its influence into me. I calm down, not feeling the heat of battle rise into me. Instead, I can see what I want to do clearly. No panic rises, instead I have faith in my skills and feel my options.

“Well Bishop, I’ll move first.” I return to reality, facing the Ranger. He narrows his gaze at my calmness,  suspecting a trick. There isn’t one. I have more skill than him; the times have tested my battle prowess in every situation imaginable. I beat Miraak, I beat Lord Harkon, if only temporarily, and I fought my way out of the Soul Cairn. I’ve bested the daedric princes and sworn my allegiance to some. 

One puny, human man cannot harm me. Even if I’m pretty sure he’s part wolf. What if he was a werewolf? That’d be awkward. And hairy.

Regardless of my premonitions, I have to beat him. And I will. I rush forward all at once, eyes locked on that blade of his. He brings it up to swipe diagonally, letting me dodge to the side and swing my swords. He ducks under my blades, punching me in the side with his free hand. Yeah, like that’s going to do much. I spin around with my momentum, landing a boot to his shoulder. The kick sends him sprawling to the ground quite confused, but unfortunately for me within a moment he’s up again, as angry as ever.

“Wench.” He mutters. “Come on, then!”

“If you insist.” I say, with false sweetness brewed in. We’ve come full circle; this is what should have happened when we first met in Riverwood. If I wasn’t so damned tired at the time, this is probably how it would have gone anyway. Anyone bold enough to call me a wench can expect a boot to the head. 

I come closer to him, aware of the blade raised above my head. He’s getting angry, it seems. And with that comes desperation. I jump up, slinging an arm over his neck and flipping over his back, holding him in an arched position. He twists around with a curse, grabbing my arm and yanking me back towards him, knife coming increasingly close to my collarbones. 

I grab his forearm and drop to the ground, making him fall onto my waiting leg. I kick him off roughly, slinging him to the side to recover. My swords fade into a conjured bow, nocking an arrow as fast as my muscles allow and send an arrow spinning by his arm. A small cut oozes a single drop of blood, indicating I’ve won.

“Ranger.” I tower over him, letting the bow fade back into oblivion. “I think that’s my win.”

“For now.” He says viciously. “I’ll have you yet, Ladyship.”

“We’ll see.” I snap, with equal ferocity. Not until he changes his attitude he won’t. I refuse to give myself to some lust-driven beast, only intent on using me. He’ll figure that out, or forever wait by the sidelines. “Now then, I suppose we should get some sleep, shouldn’t we?” I say, bringing out my own bedroll. I set it down near the horses, walking into the surrounding woods to collect some dry firewood. We’ve been released from the swamp, and have now been set into the bitter cold of the forest yet again. 

I find some dry logs and twigs in the hollow of a tree, hauling them onto my shoulders and wandering back to camp. He’s set up his bedroll away from mine, absentmindedly petting Karnwyr. Mad or not, I don’t care. I clear an area as best as I can, creating the cone of wood for me to ignite. A good blast of flames and the fire roars to life, crackling as it dispels the moisture in the wood. 

I grab an empty potion vial out of my bag, dumping snow into the opening. I set it near the edge of the fire, watching the snow melt slowly in the heat. I dump out the water onto a washcloth, wiping off my face. It feels nice to get the grime and sweat off of me, but my current mood with Bishop doesn’t allow me to enjoy the small pleasure. 

I grab a book out of my bag, flipping it open and reading it in silence.  _ The Horror of Castle Xyr _ is my current story, recommended to me for training in destruction magic. It’s an interesting play.

“What are you reading?” He asks finally. 

“Book.”

“Alright, I’ll just go fuck myself then.”

“You may have to with the way that fight went.” A smile flickers on my lips, enraging him even more.

“Shut your mouth, Ladyship, or I may shut it for you.”

“Has that ever worked on me?” I look up from the book. “Thought so.” I undo my braid, letting my hair fall in long locks onto my shoulders. I need to pay more attention to it; just setting it in a ponytail or braid won’t work forever. I take a comb out of my bag, running it through my hair gently, wary of how many knots are in it. 

I finish at last, and after heaving a sigh decide it’s time to sleep. Bishop sits eating something over on his pack, so I assume it’s his turn for first watch. With little hesitation I throw my things into my bag, tucking myself into my bedroll and rolling over into slumber.

…

“Your turn, Ladyship.” He growls lowly from above my bedroll. I awake with a start, nearly jumping out of my skin as he wakes me up. My hands slam down beside me, shoving me out of bed and up into the cold.

“By the Gods, Bishop.” I breathe heavily, my head spinning. “Gods…”

“Sorry.” He says, not sorry at all. In the low light of the fire I can see the grin on his face as he slinks back to his bedroll, tucking himself into it and rolling over. He motions for Karnwyr to settle down beside him, but the wolf gets up from his post and comes to join me, headbutting my side lovingly as I sit up on the nearby rock. I cover both of us in a bear pelt, looking out onto where the sun will be rising in a few hours.

“Thanks, boy.” I scratch him lovingly behind the ears, letting him settle his head into my lap as I keep watch. It’s going to be a long few hours.

…

“Ah, I slept well.” Bishop stretches, content. He smirks to my exhausted face, gloating on what happened last night. For some reason, I didn’t sleep well last night. Almost as if someone was continuously shifting me in my sleep. Bishop...that idiot...I’ll get him back for this, I swear.

“Yeah?” I pull out one of my stamina potions, staring at the label for a few moments before downing the entire thing. I sigh, tossing the bottle back into my bag and rolling up my bedroll. I take out a hunk of bread and cheese, sliding in some dried strips of meat for some protein. While waiting I idly sit and eat, watching Bishop stamp out the fire with a hollow gaze.

“You don’t look too good, Ladyship.” He says, trying to contain himself. I do my best to contain my chagrin; it’s difficult.

“Thanks.” I say, standing up and brushing myself off. I splash water from my waterskin on my face, followed by a quick flash of freeze to wake myself up. I brush off the ice crystals, grinning as the sudden spark of cold wakes me right up, along with my pissed off demeanor. I roll up my bedroll, strapping it to Ashes. From my pack I dig out a few carrots, still upset she can’t eat the grass here. I strap her saddle on with care, whispering soft regrets to having to keep her working like this. My childhood memories consist of running across the forests of High Rock with my pinto, riding her bareback. Both of us felt so free; I let her do the navigating as we simply enjoyed the ride. We’d stop for a rest, she’d graze, and I’d pick up potion ingredients for back home. I miss doing that.

After her saddle and tack are ready, I slide up into the saddle and with one last look to Bishop struggling to get his bridle on, I leave him behind in the dust. After a few moments I hear him struggling to catch up, with soft barking from behind me as well. No need to stop, then. I keep pushing Ashes, navigating us through the snow drifts and fallen trees covered in frost. 

“Rowan!” I hear him call from behind me. I know there’s something there, but half of me just wants to let him deal with it. Until I see he’s talking about in front of me. A snowy sabre cat rises out from its hollow in a tree, growling ferociously as its eyes lock on Ashes. Oh no you don’t.

I slide from the saddle, angrily casting a stoneflesh on myself. Round two, bastard. I hate these things, ever since that night at Markarth. Perhaps I’ll take my frustration out on this poor guy.

“ _ Yol...Toor _ !” I yell, bringing a wall of fire into existence that showers the sabre cat in flames. I haul out Artemis, shooting off as many arrows as I can before it pounces on me. I drop flat to the ground, amused at how the Sabre Cat overshoots and lands in a nearby snowbank. A lucky arrow to the face and its soul is sitting in one of the soul gems in my pack.

“Thanks. Needed more souls.” I say, getting back up on Ashes as Bishop finally catches up with me. 

“Honestly, I figured you’d be more scared than you were.” He says finally.

“Nope.” I reply bluntly. 

“Even though you have that scar?” He looks to my face. “What, you’re not going to give me some sob story or irrational excuse for a fear?”

“Nope.” I return to my saddle. Glad to see the hostility between us hasn’t disappeared. I knew he’d be angry after the fight, but in all reality I never expected this amount of salt from him. Amazing. “It’s just over the ridge. Let’s get the treasure.”

“Or, let’s not, and waste this entire trip.” He suggests with false sincerity. 

“Sure.” I say, pretending to turn my horse around.

“Ladyship.” He snaps, looking to me with hooded eyes. I shrug lazily, unapologetic.

“I’m done with your bullshit right now, Bishop.” I say. I’m still exhausted; he did something to me last night. Probably talked to me while I slept, or shoved snow in my bedroll. I’d hate to imagine.

We reach the crest of the hill, looking into the pit that is Korvanjund. I see movement down below; I suppose this ruin is overrun by bandits as well. Hopefully they haven’t found the treasure yet.

“ _ Laas! _ ” I whisper. Three bandits.

“Hey Bishop.”

“Yes?”

“I have a lot of steam to blow off.” I say, bringing out a stealth and marksman potion. “Let me take it.”

“...Alright?” He asks curiously. I down both potions, waiting for my vision to change. Now I can see their field of vision, and my bow seems to be an extension of my hand. I may be getting a bit better at alchemy, it seems. 

I find my way to the edge, hiding behind a worn stone pillar. There’s a leader on the top floor, one on the stairs, and one down below near the locked room. I’ll work my way up. 

“ _ This will make up for before _ .” The daedra chuckles.

“Whatever. You take over.” I say finally. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I don’t want Bishop to know you’re still in me. And why are you talking to me more often? You never spoke to me before.”

“ _ You warned him. _ ” He ignores my questions.

“Yeah, but it’ll just give him more leverage if he knows how often I consult with you.”

“ _ Your brain is a comfy place to be. Definitely better than Mora’s realm. _ ”

“Oh, no wonder you’re so passive.”

“ _ I am simply an observer, Dragonborn. I lost my body when Stendarr’s fools tried to get me out of you. _ ”

“So technically it worked.”

“ _ I still linger, don’t I? _ ” I feel it grin slightly. “ _ Am I really a daedra, or am I the darker side of you? _ ”

“Or, the dark part of me you warped.” I figure. “That I just haven’t accepted yet.”

“ _ Smart girl. _ ”

“I wonder if I can kill you with mead.”

“ _ Only for a time. _ ”

“Good enough!” I hand it the reigns, content to sit back and watch like a movie. A first person movie. I’m just hoping I don’t get motion sick.

Pseudo-me leans out from my hiding spot, conveniently out of sight of the other two. My first shot lands in his neck, pinning the man in the stone behind him. He gurgles out some sort of alarm, alerting the one on the stairs. The bandit in turn yells up to the boss, and now the two are going to seek me out up on the outer rim.

If they can even get here.

The only way in or out is to get up the steps in front of me.

The poor cove whirls around looking for the archer, finding no one. He turns to his boss for instruction, not seeing me pop out from my spot again. My arrow impacts and crunches through his spine, sending his body into his boss. In turn, the boss, a huge orc in etched nord armor, brings out his battleaxe with a mighty roar. Uh oh, now he’s angry. Shit.

I decide to reveal myself, stepping out into the open and firing off a few shots. The orc brings up his shield, deflecting them like sticks thrown from a child. In my frustration I switch to firebolts, concerned about the closing distance between us. No matter how much fire I bombarde the orc with, he’s not stopping or even slowing down. Every step he takes closer to me is infuriating. Laughing in my face; disregarding my skills. I dual cast, throwing as much fire as I can towards him. He deflects it or takes it with no problem, taunting me from below.

That’s it. I can nearly hear Bishop laughing at me from the ridge.

.

H̶͈̩̳̩̓͌͂͋̉ͅo̗̦͔̳̼̿̀̋̇͘͞w̧̪̩̣̝̻̪̿̑͌̓͌̄͢ d̴̢̧͎̜̱̥͕̙̥̈́̓̋̍̽͂̍ą̬̪̬̦̙͈̿̇͌̊̀̊̓̌͐͟͝r̨̨̛̭͇͚̟̘̮̀̍̃͛̄͠͠ḙ̸͈͚̠̼͔̟͚̳͈͑̌̓̃͂͋̚ t̡̗̯̲̞̖̝̟̱͓̅͌́̓̈͡h̡̛̛͙̜͖̠͔̝̔͗̀͂̎̃̂͘ę̰̺̭̼̩̱̹́͑̃̎̿͛͜͞ÿ̴̛͉̟͇͙͔͆͛̊͜?̢͔͖̬͈̐̃̀̐̈́̃̄͢͜

.

I shout in pure rage, draining my anger through one motion. My palms fill with fiery winds, and once I cast the spell, the fire explodes around me like an atronach. I conjure two swords, running towards him to engulf him in my flames. Through the flying embers I connect with hit after hit, eventually finding nothing else to eviscerate. The flames fade away, leaving the orc dead on the stone steps.

I look around at the destruction, finding singed stone and a cooked orc. Well, that’s definitely a spell to remember. Ash litters my feet from where I’ve burnt off things the orc was wearing, falling to the ground as black snow around me.

“Gods!” Bishop says, slightly concerned. 

“That felt good.” I say, a smile flickering on my face. “Hey, I learned a new spell.” My rage burns down, and the daedra leaves me, content with chuckling in the shadows. 

“Neat?” He says, still unsure.

“So, about that map.” I pull it out, opening it and holding the paper in front of me. Sure enough, the map fits. A scraggly tree sits rooted on the second arch, just as the map said. “Well, that’s not exactly a mystery, is it?”

“Nope. Let’s go.” He pats me on the side, and both of us take to running over to the arch. We reach the tree simultaneously, searching around for the chest. 

“Odd.” I say finally, still looking.

“Where the hell is it?” He mutters, searching around the entire base of the tree. “What the hell!”

“Hold on…” I hang off the arch, looking into the rocks parallel to where we are. Sure enough, a chest sits on its side a few feet down, hidden by snow. I jump down to the rocks below, kicking the chest over onto the correct side. I open the lid, looking inside. 

“What’s in it?” Bishop says, dropping down as well.

“Lots of gold-we’ll split it. Gems. Some arrows, and…” I pull out a pair of ebony gauntlets. “You’re taking these.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re wearing leather.”

“So?”

“Ebony.” I shove them into his lap, tucking the books into my pack. I pull up some ornate looking clothes to reveal tons of soul gems, nearly squealing in delight.

“What!?” He peers in. “Oh.” He says, let down.

“More soul gems! And they’re full!” I say happily. “I can replace our necklaces then! And enchant some of your stuff for you!”

“Wait a minute, I don’t need any of your fancy mage stuff.”

“Aren’t you just sour.” I say, spirits uplifted by the find. “Well then, I have another use for these soul gems.” I shove them lovingly in a cloth pouch, all too pleased about the find. I hold up the clothes to myself, actually finding the tunic to be about the right size. It was a man’s tunic, but it’ll do. It’s clean and dry; good enough for me.

“Wait a minute, you’re going to wear that!?”

“Well I’m going to wash it first.” I say indignantly. 

“Then you’ll look like some rich noble!” He argues. “You can just wear my stuff, I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather have my own clothes.” I giggle, watching how much it angers him. “What, what’s wrong?”

“Whoops. Now it’s gone.” He snatches the tunic from my hands, throwing it up to let the wind claim it.

“Hey!” I say, smacking his arm lightly. “I need clothes! My tunics keep getting ruined!”

“Then get some, but don’t be wearing just any guy’s old clothes from a chest!”

“Better than being naked!”

“I disagree.” He grins.

“Oh shut up.” I roll my eyes. “Let’s go check the bodies and the locked room below.”

“Agreed.” We drop onto the platform below, that houses the entrance of the crypt. 

“We should go in there.” I say, looking at the door.

“We are  _ not  _ going in there.” He quips, disgruntled. “Come on.”

“I’ll check it out after. You can wait here.” I say, sliding down to the locked room. “I’ll pick the lock, you loot the bodies.” I take out my set of lockpicks, sliding the tension wrench in the old nordic lock. 

“Gold...a few necklaces...silver ring…” Bishop tosses the stuff into his coin purse. “I’ll give you the gems since I’m nice.”

“Kay.” I call, popping the lock open. We both walk into the room, finding a large chest set into the wall. The other portion of the room has collapsed; I can see what appears to be a bone sticking out from the rubble. Great. 

Bishop kicks open the chest, peering inside. He frowns, using his full strength to bash the chest against the wall. It slams shut with a loud bang, rocking back and forth for a few moments before Bishop turns away.

“Empty?”

“Yes.” He says angrily. 

“Anyway, I’ll head into the ruin really fast.”

“No, let’s just leave.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal.” I run away before he can catch me, bouncing up the stairs to the upper platform. I kick open the door, expecting an entrance hall. Instead, I get a tiny room half filled with rubble.

“Ruined.” He chuckles from behind me. “How ironic.”

Only the things of the bandits lay scattered around the small room. I pick up a few gold and an unopened bottle of mead, sighing as I try and look past the broken stone pillars. 

“Too bad.” I say sadly.

“Whatever. This place was disappointing.” Bishop decides, nearly dragging me out of the room. “Where to now?”

“I don’t know.” I pause, opening my map. The places I’ve been are marked out with a large ‘X’ over it, denoting not to go there again. “Let’s go down to Whiterun, see if we can find anything to do.”

“Or anyone to do.” He says bitterly.

“I can finally check in with the companions.” I ignore his comment. 

“Whiterun it is, then.” We reach the horses, whistling to call them over to us. Looks like another day’s travel, but after that I’ll have a soft bed to sleep in.


	12. Lycanthr-nope

“Heheh…” I giggle. “Hey Bishop, what do you call a nice troll?”

“What.”

“A sweetroll!” I chuckle even harder.

“Stop.”

We saunter up to the Whiterun stables, dismounting and handing the reigns to the stable master. I look around, trying to find the fur covered tent near the entrance of the city. I don’t see any; that’s troublesome for me. They generally have rare potion ingredients I need and can’t find anywhere else.

“Darn!” I say, not seeing the scraggly flag of a caravan.

“What is it?” He looks around, trying to see where I’ve been staring.

“There’s no Khajiit caravan!” I huff unhappily. “I needed some things from them!”

“Well, we missed them.” Thanks, Ranger Obvious. 

“I guess they’ve gone Elsweyr.” 

“Ladyship…”

“Sorry.” We walk up to the gates, getting suspicious looks from the guards, as usual. Once they recognize my face they haul open the gates quickly, cutting loose into their usual banter.

“Hullo Thane!” One greets happily. 

“Don’t let me catch you lollygaggin’ again!” Another teases. I fake a pout, pretending to be bashful.

“Won’t happen again, Sir.” I grin.

“How do you do, Thane?” The one on the inside greets.

“Good, thank you.” I beam despite having to pull at Bishop’s armor to keep him from hanging back. “Mind if I make some more arrows?” 

“Only if you make me some.” He quips. I groan; may as well though.

“Agreed.” I turn around once we’re fully in the city. Warmaiden’s is to my left; it’s as good of a forge as any. “Let me see your necklace. I’ll repair and re-enchant it.” I take off my own, looking to my ring. It’s fine as of now; the enchantment on it still glows brightly. “Let me see your hand.”

“Why?” He raises his hand anyway, placing it in my own. Wrong ring, stupid. This one has his wolf head ring that I’ve never seen him take off, even in the lake. I suppose it’s sentimental, though I’ve never seen him as that kind of person.

“Other one…” I giggle, letting him quickly switch out. His hands are larger than mine, as I knew they’d be. Calloused and strong, I can only imagine what he’s done with them throughout the years. Some bits I may not even want to think about; they’ve put an end to quite a few lives. 

Oh right, the ring. Despite what we’ve been through, the ring is still immaculate. Has he been...taking care of it? It seems as if he has, but I can’t figure out a reason why he’d do that. Ah well. 

“Ring looks fine.” I look around, figuring out something he can do. “Can you go get me some firewood to make the arrows from? Cedar Preferred.”

“Fine.” He narrows his gaze down the road into the throngs of the people, apparently unwilling to go through the crowds. 

“They won’t bite.” I giggle. “There’s a chopping block down near Belethor’s store.”

“Making me work…” He sighs, heading off. 

With his departure, I set to working on our necklaces. I carefully heat up the metal so it expands, taking out the diamonds in both. Mine is still intact from the wormwood poison in Windhelm; but Bishop’s is completely cracked. The spriggans would have killed him if it wasn’t for this taking the brunt of the poison. 

This poor diamond; it’s been cracked from the inside out. I tuck it into my pack; perhaps I can inlay it on something else. I bring out my pouch of gems, selecting another diamond. What’s the best one I have? If anyone needs the best, it’ll be him. I select the best diamond I have; a wide, shallow one we found in the dwarven ruins. I press it to my lips, closing my eyes slowly and inhale.

_ Please keep Bishop safe. That stupid Ranger needs all the protection he can get. _

With that, I put the diamond down, dropping the two empty necklaces into the smelter. I add in a bit more silver, and wait for it to melt.

“Got your wood.” Bishop says, dropping the logs down next to the forge. “And I have some special wood, if you’d prefer.”

I roll my eyes so hard I could see my brain.

“Why don’t you go rent us some rooms?” I wave to the Bannered Mare. “Down there. And if you could bring me a drink, I’m parched. My waterskin went dry mid-morning.”

“Sure! Why don’t I just go clean up the kitchen, polish the silverware…” He grunts bitterly, making his way to the Bannered Mare. That should keep him distracted while I work on this. He’ll think he’s punishing me or something by staying there and drinking; but that’s what I’m counting on. This is going to take a bit of time.

I reach for the bundle of supplies I had taken off of Ashes. They contained my materials; dragonbones, a few rolls of dragon scales, a gold and silver ingot, and my tools. No ebony, however. I walk into Warmaiden’s, pleased that Adrianne sits behind the counter.

“Hello!” I greet, setting my gold on the counter. “I’ll take five bars of ebony, please. And if I could get... perhaps two rolls of leather, that’d be good.”

“Certainly.” She pushes the items I request across the counter as I slide her a good amount of gold. Thank the gods for the Jarl’s bounties, right?

“Thank you!” I return outside, my coin purse significantly lighter. I set the bundle down next to the forge, taking the silver out of the smelter. Not too much slag; that’s good. I scoop it off with a lockpick and pour it into the molds, setting those over the forge. Once it’s cooled down, yet still quite hot, I go to work. I chisel out a well in the center of the necklace, sizing each to accommodate the gem. With my callipers I slowly embed the gems in there, letting it cool down more for the silver to adhere. Then it’s right back onto the forge. Sweat drips from my brow as I engrave each of them; making an intricate design on mine that I learned in High Rock. For Bishop, I turn the necklaces into a wolf’s head; the tail sweeping down with the diamond in the center, as if hastily protecting it. Perhaps years upon years of practice really do make perfect. 

Mine’s flat and boring, but that’s alright. The designs I put on them always remind me of home; so I’ll take that. Bishop’s, however, is a work of art. I was never one to sculpt on my jewelry, but perhaps my time with him and Karnwyr have burned every angle of a wolf into my mind. 

Now then. The ebony is now in the smelter; I’ll have to hammer out a few large bars...shape the edges…now where is my hammer? I need it for the anvil horn...

…

“Wench, thinking she can just send me around like an errand boy!” Bishop mutters to himself, stepping into the Bannered Mare. There’s way too many people here for his liking; it seems like the entire populace of Whiterun is here. He walks up to the counter, setting twenty gold. Normally he’d be disgruntled by having to pay for her rooms as well, but she’s paid for so much of his it only seems right. Ah well.

“Two rooms; one for me, and another for a short blond Breton who calls herself Rowan.” He says, accepting the key for his room.

“Rowan is back?” Hulda says, pleased. “Good to see the she’s still in one piece! We worry about her, you know. Tell her to stop by; she’s a pleasant face around here.”

“The lass is back?” A man rises from his place on the benches around the fire, stepping over to the bar. “Rowan is in the city?”

“Perhaps. Who are you?”

“Vilkas, one of the companions.” He looks around, displeased to not find her in the tavern. “I was her shield-brother for a few...trials. Gal can sniff out traps faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. Better doctor than any we have around here, too. I have a job she may be interested in, being the Dragonborn and all.”

He was exactly the kind of man Bishop hated. He was probably the same age as Rowan, only slightly taller, and with a greatsword across his back Bishop was sure he wasn’t able to use. Fancy wolf armor that screamed he was a companion. Worst of all, an amulet of Mara hung at his belt, tucked behind his coin purse and out of view.

“Do you have a letter or pamphlet for her?” He reaches his hand out. “I’ll take it to Rowan.”

“Sorry, Companion business. Needs to be hand-delivered.” He says quickly. “Where is she?” Bishop hesitates, unwilling to tell him.

“Warmaiden’s. By the forge.” He says finally, settling down in a chair. He glares quietly from his seat, contemplating if this boy was worth his troubles. Rowan would never fall for him, right? Though she was smart; he might not be strong, but he seemed intelligent enough. Is she a brains or brawn gal?

“You her traveling partner?”

“Yep.” He looks up to Vilkas. “What of it?”

“‘Thought she never took people with her. Said they’re too much of a hassle an’ all.” He paused. “Even rejected me.”

“Well, I suppose she just doesn’t like you.” Bishop says with a sly smirk.

“Doubt that. Are you new?” Vilkas warns. “If you knew Rowan, you’d know she doesn’t hate anyone who’s honest.” He had a point. The only people she really hated were the bandits, mercenaries, and Thonar, none of whom were honest. She even still had a soft spot for Apolinus; the bastard. 

“Whatever.” Bishop shrugs, watching Vilkas leave. Great. Should he follow him? Bishop did finish what she asked. But he still had to stay since she treated him like a messenger boy. But Vilkas is going to hit on her. Yet if he comes back he’s being weak. But Vilkas is going to hit on her. But she’s still being a frigid wench. But Vilkas is going to  _ hit on her _ . 

Fine. 

He takes the bottle of mead with him, exiting the table right before a certain girl sits down.

…

“Rowan!” Vilkas calls out, finding her exactly where the man said. At the forge, like she’d been so many times before. “You know, Eorlund wouldn’t mind sharing the skyforge with you.”

“Eh. I’m not doing anything Companion-related at the moment, so it’s okay.” I look up from my arrow making, looking up to Vilkas. An amulet of Mara hangs from his belt in full view. Wonder if he’s taking up restoration?

“Well, you could be. Got an interesting request for you. Sounds right up your alley.” He hands the note to her, watching her open it before explaining. “There’s a dragon terrorizing Karthwasten. Makes its home at a place they call Dragontooth crater.”

“I’ll take it.” I say immediately, folding the paper and sticking it into my pack. 

“Alright. And make sure to swing by Jorrvaskr. We’ve missed you.” Vilkas goes to leave, stopping slight. “Talk to me before you leave.”

“Okay?” I say, suspicious. “See you there, then.” 

“Right.” Vilkas walks away, back towards Jorrvaskr. That was more than odd.

I continue with my arrows, shaping the tips as sharp as I can manage, folding the tail around the arrow shafts I split from the firewood. It was going to take me all day, just to get a good amount done…

“What, making plans without me?” Bishop comes out from behind the corner of Warmaiden’s, seemingly quite angry.

“May as well. Pays well and I get to eat a dragon soul.” I pause. “Oh, are you talking about how you don’t want to?”

“What if I don’t feel like hauling ass to Markarth?” He says, anger leering under the surface of the question.

“A bit too late now, I suppose. We’d split, then.”

“The time we’ve spent together meant nothing to you?” He leans himself on the forge, lazily sitting along the railing.

“Bishop, that’s tempting fate.”

“Answer the question.”

“I didn’t say the split would be for good.” I chuckle. “What, think I’d just throw you away?”

“Mayhap a little.” He admits. 

“Nope. But now I’m locked into doing this. If you wish, you could go hunting or something with Karnwyr, and I’ll fight the dragon.”

“Never said I didn’t want to fight the dragon. I just don’t like helping people.” He pauses. “And for someone who doesn’t like mercenaries, it’s a bit too ironic you work for a legal band of sellswords.”

“I’ve thought about that.” I admit. “But when you think about it, no one has gotten rich off of being a companion. We go, help someone get rid of an animal, get rid of an unwanted stalker, or kill a dragon terrorizing people. We get paid. Some of that goes to us, of course. But most of it is in lodging, food, etc. And despite the occasional job to rough up someone or other, I still believe at the heart of it all the Companions are good.”

“I don’t like them.” He says flatly. “It always stinks of canines whenever they’re around, and they act so high and mighty. Yet despite being such great warriors, they listen to some washed up old man.”

“Kodlak isn’t the leader. There isn’t one.” I chuckle, thinking of the idea. They still count Ysgramor as the leader, but I certainly won’t tell Bishop that. “Now then...stand up!”

I grab the necklace from the side of the forge, cutting a thin leather strip off of the roll I bought earlier. I slip it through the hole I punched through the top, knotting it and tugging at the cord to make sure it’ll hold. 

“What is it?” He looks to what I have in my hands.

“New necklace!” I loop it over his neck, pressing it to my lips and dropping it to his chest. Immediately he picks it up off of himself and turns it over, looking at the wolf I carved into it. “Don’t you dare let some bandit take this, or sell it. And definitely don’t leave it on your bedside table when you’re with some wench you barely know.”

“Amazing.” He comments, turning it over and over again. “Well, you’re certainly good at your trade.”

“Ex-trade.” I correct. “Adventurer now.” I correct, throwing my own necklace on. “Try not to break that one, okay?”

“You’re asking a lot.” He raises an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have to cancel charging headfirst into those Spriggans. Now what will I do Thursday night?” 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I laugh, picking the hair out of my eyes. “Want to see the arrows?”

“I’m looking at them.” He picks one up, balancing it on his finger. “So you don’t just make pretty jewelry.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, right?”

“I wouldn’t even give you that much.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” He puts down the arrow slightly. “I was just beginning to be interested.”

“Yeah?” I shape another arrow, brushing it into the batch beside the anvil.

“Your face is a little pink, Ladyship.”

“And your face is…” I look to him, infuriated by his smirk. “Stupid.”

“Good one!” He chuckles sarcastically. “Now then, when are you going to Jorrvaskr?”

“Probably after this.” I toss another arrow onto the pile. “You know how to fletch?”

“Do I know how to breathe?” He scoffs. “I’ve made my own arrows before, Ladyship. What, you think I buy my arrows, like some novice adventurer?”

“I occasionally buy them.” I look to him. “You know, supporting my fellow smiths.”

“Did you already seal these?” He looks to the notches I cut, staring down the arrow to check if it was straight. Screw his grading, I know for sure my arrows are as straight as well...an arrow.

“Yup. Beeswax.” I say, pointing a thumb to my bar on the forge. “Be careful, the points are incredibly sharp.” I wrap another around the shaft, hammering the point flat. Nearly done…

“Well, I guess I can fletch them.” He sighs, sitting down with my bag of goose feathers. “Are you making poor Ashes carry all this stuff around!?”

“Well, yes.” I look to my discarded pack next to the forge. “But I sacrifice clothes and everything else for it. The only thing Ashes has to carry that’s extra is any ore we find.” I shrug. “And, perhaps soon, some dwarven spiders. But then I’ll stop carrying around materials like this.”

“I’d laugh, but I know you’re serious.”

“I think they’re cute.”

“Ladyship, they’re metal. Metal and steam.”

“ _ Cute _ metal and steam.” I argue. “Speaking of cute, what’s Karnwyr going to do? The hunting around here isn’t too good.”

“Probably chasing bunnies.” Bishop decides, winding the twine around the fletching. He cuts it off with his knife, making a new pile beside him. “So that Vilkas guy…”

“What about him?” I pause. Bishop is...jealous? You’re kidding. 

“What’s up with him?” Bishop decides, finally. “Seemed a bit gung-ho, if that makes sense.” He’s jealous.

“He was raised a companion.” I laugh a little. “Although he enjoys it, he tends to be a bit more restless than his brother.”

“Brother?”

“The large guy, nearly as big as Casavir. Farkas.” 

“I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like anyone.”

“Anyone who sells mead or ale.” He shrugs. “And you’re okay too, I suppose.”

“Eh, I’ll take it.” I rock back onto my heels, and then to my toes. This process takes forever; and my feet feel so dead I think Miraak could relate. Hopefully with Bishop fletching it won’t take so long. The sun has begun to sink, meaning that everyone will be heading back to Jorrvaskr for the night. I should go hang around, if only for a bit. Check in with Aela, figure out what Vilkas wanted, and perhaps drink a ton of their ale. It’s pretty good.

…

Bishop wanted to come with me, the nosy bastard. He stays close on my heels, basically breathing down my neck as everybody looks at me funny for bringing an outsider.

“Rowan...eh…” Aela looks to me. “Hello.” She greets Bishop.

“Sorry, we’re not staying long. Just thought I should say hello to everyone. Vilkas already gave me a request.”

“Ah, good. Good.” Aela nods. “Go seek out Farkas; you know what he wants.”

“Oh, right.” I say, mentally preparing myself. He’s near the back, around the table. I can feel Bishop get suspicious at her words, raising an eyebrow and nearly gripping the back of my tunic so he could haul me out of there. “Farkas!” I exclaim, watching him come around the table to greet me.

“Rowan!” He says happily, hauling me up into a bear hug. I...can’t...breathe… My daedra flickers to the surface thinking I’m dying, takes one look at the situation, and disappears with a demonic giggle. 

“Farkas…” I barely get above a whisper. He finally releases me from his vice-like death hug, dropping me to the ground so hard I nearly collapse to my knees. “Good to see you too.” I wheeze out while my chest heaves.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, looking to me in my ruined state. “My brother wanted me to pass you to him once you got here. He’s down below.”

“Gotcha.” I step back, patting Bishop on the shoulder. “Hold on, I shouldn’t let you into the quarters. I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” He pouts angrily. How cute! 

I make my way down the steps, pushing open the doors. I suppose he’d be in his room, then. I can hear Tilma sweeping away in the barracks, somewhere within. I turn the corner to find Vilkas’s room, going to knock open the door.

“Shield-Sister.” He greets. I open the door, seeing him sitting down lazily on his bed. Wonder what he wants.

…

“Alright.” I agree, nodding. He hands me a bag of gold; it should be enough. “I’ll get it to you tomorrow night at the latest.” 

“Don’t rush yourself.” He calls, letting me leave. I return to a very pissed off Bishop, who grabs me by the wrist and nearly lifts me off my feet as he leads me out. He finally lets go of my as we exit the outer walls of Jorrvaskr, whirling on me with a face full of half fear, and half unbridled rage.

“What did you talk about!?” He snarls, accusing me. Well, this jealousy suddenly got annoying.

“Potion prices.”

“What?”

“Potion prices.” I decide I should elaborate. “He wants to buy potions from me.” 

“What? Why all the secrecy!?” Bishop says, exasperated. “You were gone forever!”

“He doesn’t want to be mocked for using potions.” I laugh. “He thinks the Companions will mock him for relying on a bottle for his abilities.”

“So he did all that…” Bishop sighs. “For a few potions?”

“Well, he ordered quite a bit.” I say. “I’ll be heading to Arcadia’s Cauldron first thing in the morning. I have the materials, but I don’t have the lab. Now, can we get a bath and some sleep?”

“Yes.” He says finally. “Gods, don’t you go running off with one of those dogs.”

“Dogs?” I imagine the hounds that lay around the porch. It takes me a second to realize he meant...I suppose Vilkas and Farkas. “The brothers?”

“Yes! I see the way they stare at you…” He grits his teeth.

“Bishop? Jealous, much?” I grin, taking his hand and tugging us towards the Bannered Mare. “Come on, I need a bath.”

“You didn’t see the look on Farkas’s face when he hugged you and your…” His eyes flicker to my chest. “Pressed against him.”

“Oh come on.” I huff. 

“He did! He looked so damn pleased!” Bishop tensed up at the memory. “And once you walked away, his eyes went to those hips of yours. They’re just waiting, Ladyship.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d be the same way.” I roll my eyes. “Most men are.”

“Most? The only men not looking your way are the ones who enjoy the company of other men.” Bishop sighs. “But the both of them look at you hungrily, like they’re just waiting for you to make a wrong move and they can sweep you off your feet. And I mean that literally for the big guy.”

“Sheesh. You’re getting jealous like Apolinus.” I sigh. “Calm down, man.”

“Don’t compare me to him.” He snaps. “Did you see what Vilkas did when he met you at the forge!? He had that damn amulet hidden before, and as soon as he was about to get to you shifted his purse away so it’s front and center, the bastard!”

“Oh, I actually figured he’d just use it for restoration like me.” I pause in my tracks. “I thought he had a lady.”

“No. And why in Oblivion would he have an amulet for restoration!? I bet he can’t do a thing of magic.”

“Well, it’s helpful even if you only know a simple healing hand spell.” I shrug. “You never know.”

“Oh yes I do know.” He quips. “I know that if I’m not by your side, you’re going to be swept away by some idiot who won’t give a damn about you.”

“That’s not true.” We reach the steps of the Bannered Mare. The marketplace is completely deserted save for a few guards, and I’m just about ready to end this conversation. 

“It’ll happen, I know it will!” He opens his mouth again to protest something or other.

“Stop.” I turn to him before he can say another word, winding my fingers behind his neck and yanking his mouth down to mine. My hands work their way across his chest, wrapping themselves comfortably behind his back as I feel his own digits weave themselves into my hair. I move to part us, but he’s not having any of the idea. He keeps one hand at the base of my head and another at my back; I’m not going anywhere without his say-so.

He seems relieved at my choice, as if there was a chance that spark between us had gone away so soon. Of course it hadn’t. I don’t think I could extinguish that tiny flame, even if I tried to smother it with everything I had. Yet, do I love him? It may be too early to tell. A month is a short time to know someone, even if you’ve been with him constantly. Besides, my dragon heart is a bit unreadable at times. Am I ready to give myself to him? 

The ferocity of his kiss tells me yes, but my brain says no. Perhaps we can find a median soon, but for now, I’m content with the sporadic moments we share. He greedily picks at me, fully repaying the jealousy I made him feel throughout the afternoon. If it makes him this fired up, teasing him may be a good thing. He bites on my lip, unwilling to let go as I finally force us to part, my breath barely coming to me as I stand in silence.

“I’m only looking at one man now. That give you enough?”

“For now.” He opens the door, ushering me inside.

...

Even this late at night, the tavern is still alive with the joyous celebration of nothing. Flagons are hoisted into the air at random intervals, toasting to just a simple day gone. I buy a bottle of mead, settling myself into a table happily. Bishop sits across from me, still not saying a word since what happened outside the doors. Perhaps it’s contentment that shut him up, mayhap not.

I look out into the crowd huddled around the fire, each eating and drinking merrily. The tinge of drunkenness marks each of their cheeks, which in all honesty is to be expected. The Bannered Mare is one of the few inns still to not water down their mead. I kick back a bottle of my own, displeased. As dangerous as it is, I miss being in that lulled stupor. Which is an odd thing to miss, I realize, but holding your alcohol a bit too well is never very fun.

“Bishop, I’m going to take a bath. There’s no door, so can you make sure no one comes in?” He nods, standing up with me. “Oh, and that girl has been staring at you. If you’re going to have an old lover’s quarrel, take it outside.”

“Fine, fine.” He grins, finally speaking. “I’ll make sure none of the drunkards harass you.” 

He follows me to the bathroom, letting me step inside. He takes his post at the door, leaning in the doorframe with a small grin lingering on his lips as he stares out, some pleasant thought on his mind. I really don’t want to know.

“And no peeking!” I call out, standing behind a screen as I strip down. It feels good to be naked; I needed a bath pretty badly. I pull some more oil from the pouch on my belt, slipping into the tub with a divine sigh of pleasure. I pour the liquid onto my scalp, working it in to keep my hands busy. My attention is actually held by Bishop, where I can see him conversing with the stalker girl.

“What makes her so special!?” The girl cries. Oh, me? I’m the dragonborn. Kinda a big deal.

“She just is. Now go away. Or do you want me to bend you over my knee?” Bishop, you’re kind of an idiot. Some people are into that. She may just keep going now.

“I make a good belly warmer. I’ve been looking for a man for so long…” She starts. Who the hell calls themselves a belly warmer!? Oh. She’s a thief. Definitely a thief. A horny thief, though. I’d say she had bad taste, but that’d put me in the same boat as her.

“Go away, flea. You’re annoying.”

“I’m no flea.” She pouts. Gods, I’d smack her. Her acting is worse than a drunken noble. “I’m just tired of all these weak little boys. I’m sure one night with me, and you’d-”

“You’re a flea because you cling to whatever body you can find, for food, shelter, and whatever else that fucked up head of yours desires.” Bishop says, cutting through her like a dagger. She takes a step back, thoroughly offended. But by the looks of it, she’s not giving up.

“What does SHE have that I don’t!?” She shrieks, grabbing the attention of everyone in the tavern momentarily. Well, at least she’ll have an audience for her screw up. “I’m prettier than her!”

“A brain.” Bishop says simply. I giggle from my place amongst the bubbles, pleased at the response. Perhaps he’s a bit less promiscuous than I thought. Good job, Ranger.

I finish washing myself off, and exit the water quietly. With my best attempt, I wrap myself in clean linen to dry myself off, stepping onto the oak floor daintily. If I slipped, my ass would definitely hurt in the morning. Even at my quiet footsteps Bishop turns around, looking my body over. 

“Your turn, ranger.” I beckon, stepping behind the barriers. “I’ll dress really fast. Gotta make sure you’re not harassed by those tavern wenches.” 

“Talk about clingy…” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ladyship, are you going to move?”

“What, I give you a chance to see me naked, and you choose to stand on the other side of the dressing screen?”

“Well, don’t mind if I do.” He steps over to the bath. I hear his belt clink to the floor, and the grunt of a ranger lowering himself into the water. “Smells like you.” He comments.

“Sorry.” I quip, weaving my holding cloth across my bare chest. “This is very difficult when wet…”

“Now it’s my time to apologize. Does that happen every time I get near you?”

“Bishop?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Don’t make me deck you.”

“I’m fine with that as long as you’re on top of me.”

“Gotta win that fight first.” I look to him, crouching behind the screen as I pull my tunic over myself. 

“Oh I will, Ladyship.” He grins, running his hand through his hair idly. “Just got to figure out how.”

“Perhaps you’re a bit too dense to figure out the secret.” I shrug. In a perfect world, he’d take the hint and change his plans completely. But he won’t, so I’ll beat him until he finally realizes the true purpose of our sparring.

“You have another weakness?” He raises an eyebrow. “Guess I’m not watching you close enough.” Dumbass. I pull up my britches, doing my buckle and head towards the door. The only way to win my game is not to play.

“I’m going to bed.” I announce.

“Don’t let any strange men into your room.”

“Only male allowed in my room is Karnwyr.” I shrug. “Or perhaps Vilkas.” I tease, watching how it enrages him. 

“Don’t tempt me, Ladyship.” His words barely come above a primordial growl. 


	13. Territory of the Divines

“Dragontooth Crater is…” I look up the cliff face. We’re on the wrong side. “Up there.” 

“Damn dragons, picking the worst places to nest.” He sighs. “Alright. Let’s walk around and hike up.”

All at once I hear its cry; much louder and more baritone than the others we encounter.

“Ancient.” Is all my lips say. 

“Ancient?” Bishop repeats, bringing out his bow.

“It’s going to be a hell of alot harder to break this one out of the sky.” I break into a run. “It knows we’re here; we have to meet it there. The crater’s flat ground is the best we’re going to get. Fighting on this uneven ground is suicide.”

“This is stupid.” Is all Bishop says in reply, sprinting behind me. “Old things need to die!”

“Hence why we’re here!” I yell back to him, an inky mist in my palm. This flame atronach can sense the restlessness of the wyvern, and in response is shifting in anxiousness. I don’t blame it.

We reach the crater, a ‘U’ shaped arena with a broken tower. That’ll make good cover if one of us gets injured. The ancient dragon sits on the word wall, glaring at me with many eyes. That’s...new. Several sets of horns attest to its age, jutting out at random intervals on its golden orange face. Purple markings streak down its back like the markings of a sabre cat, and its tattered wings seem more than capable of taking flight.

“You know, Ladyship, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be fighting a dragon while wearing bits of another dragon.” Bishop says finally. “That guy is one ugly looking lizard, and I don’t think he appreciates you wearing his friend.”

“Ha! It’s to establish dominance.” I grin. “Hello, Scaly!”

“ _ Dovah...I have felt you coming for ages… _ ”

“So sorry to keep you waiting.” I nock an arrow. “What, did you attack that village to attract little old me?”

“ _ No...the mudmen must Ag...burn...Alduin may be gone, but we still may rule. _ ” The dragon swings its tail in anticipation. “ _ You...Dovahkiin, will burn with them! _ ”

“That talking purse is REALLY getting on my nerves.” Bishop says from behind my shoulder. “Go ahead, Ladyship. I’m right behind you.”

“In that case…” I run forward, releasing the atronach and drawing my bow. The Dragon sweeps forward onto ground to meet me, rearing back its head to release fire.

“KRII… LUN AUS!” I yell, weakening the dragon. This should at least be a little easier now. I fire off an arrow into its snout before it lifts off, taking to the skies.

Firebolts it is, then. Most miss, I will be the first to admit that; but some hit, and I can see the remnants of one of my icicle crystals on its wing. It has to land soon. We can’t do much when it’s in the air unless we want to waste arrows; the only attack we can give are scant firebolts and ice spikes that only occasionally hit.

It finally decides to land, dropping out of the sky onto the ground in front of me. I summon two swords to my aid, watching its dagger-like teeth and claws as best I can. It dips to my chest to try and sweep me into its jaws. Its speed is admirable; I can’t roll out of the way or dodge. I pivot on my feet, angling one sword straight down and slicing its jaw, and another straight across to lacerate its snout. It rears back, deciding that’s not the best attack. 

At least I thought it was retreating. Instead, it only angled its head straight on me, plunging its jaws onto my head. I’m up to my torso in it’s gaping maw; this is definitely a new one. Both of my swords are tied up to keep its jaws from chopping my head off, and I can feel its hot breath fan my body. This is...disgusting. I can’t drop my swords, and I can’t try and escape this vice. What should I do? Bishop’s new ebony arrows, although they can pierce its hide, don’t bother it. I’m the more important prey here. The piece that has to die, no matter what the cost. Well, I definitely won’t make it easy. I let one sword disappear, wedging the other across its jaws to keep its mouth open. I drop the sword as well, falling to my knees and summoning a storm with all the magic I have. Focus...Focus Rowan! It’s a fire dragon, I can’t just hit it with more fire! I need an ice storm this time! It snaps my blade back into oblivion, preparing to blast me with fire hotter than a dwarven forge. Gods, watch over me...

Both of us release our spells simultaneously, sending a wave of ice and fire crashing together. Steam blasts both of us back, with me being sent rolling on the ground to the word wall, and the dragon being shoved roughly backwards. Long ruts where its claws raked the ground line the earth around the crater, just showing how powerful our clash was.

“ _ You are Mul...Strong, Dovahkiin. _ ” It acknowledges. “ _ But I am stronger! _ ”

“And I’m wearing your mother! Go ask her who’s stronger!” I grit my teeth, drawing Artemis. The dragon finally decides to acknowledge Bishop; it's ragged head finally turning on him. Oh no. He’s out in the open crater, with nothing to protect him but leather armor and ebony gauntlets. Fantastic.

“Bishop! The Tower!” I yell, grabbing my bow. I fire an arrow into its face, my heart dropping as the dragon doesn’t even flinch. It’s old. Old and powerful; not hotheaded like the other young dragons I fight. Its mouth screams out a pillar of fire, chasing Bishop across the crater before he dives into the safety of the tower. That was a bit more than close; I can see some part of him is on fire. The dragon clambers up the tower, its tail winding around the stone as it tries to get in, blasting the oak supports with flames to reach Bishop. It’s only a matter of time before everything in there turns to ash…! 

All at once I begin to notice where we are. Corpses burnt to a crisp litter the ground among me, stuck to the ground by ash. Several sit around the tower ruin, as if the dragon destroyed bits of it to claw at them. Bishop and I will end up exactly like that if we fail. Just another lifeless skeleton on the ground, with nothing to identify us with. 

  
  


D̳͉̠ä̛̮͙́ͤm̨̜̳̻̹̠n̷̗͎̹͙̗͗ͯͪ̀̔͛͂ ͉̲͇̩̘ͯm̖ͣ̌͛͘ȅ̠̥͙͖̜ͥͭ ̭̲͚̀͑̑̇t̟̜́̎ͫ̂ͮ͘o ̡̠͓ͩ̓͛͑̂ͣ̚O͗b̪̤̲̭̘ͧ̑̃́͘l͛͐̊̾i͓̭̣͎͙̦̊̓̂͊̋̍͡v̍͋͡i̙͎̦̟̜͆ͧͦͩͣ̊͗ö̸͈̥n͇̝̻̪̈͆͒̊ ̪͖̦̅ͭ̐͆i̧̳̮̞͉͗̓͋̈́f̜̎̑͛͊́̑̊̕ ̵̪̰̭̬͓͂̾ͬ̆ͮ̇Ȉ̇̋̋҉̦̫̠̟̘̫ͅ ̖̬͍͎̟̞̋͆ͬ͜l̙͖̯̙̃̈̓ͭͩĕ̞̹̗͔̯̞̂̋̑̀̐ͭṱ̢̺̥̱̻ͬ͛͂̈́̚ ͑͊ẗ̖ͮͣ̀̂͗̚hͬ͏̹̘aͧ̾t͈̘́͊̾̔ ̳̬̌̊h̴̪ă̱̺̲͔̙̺̓ͮͦ̋ͤ̿͢p̝̪̭̰̭ͪp͓̄̏̋̐́ẹ̛̯̩ͩͅn͚ ̝͖ͤ̈́ͯ̿͆̔t͇̰̫͕̹̩̩͒̓͗o̥̗̎̽ͪ̑ ͎̪̤̭͊ͥͯ̋̆́͜h̢̻̐ͭi̳̟͚̦̪ͭ͂m͍̗̥̬.̫͒ͫ̄̐͒̆

 

My resolve and anger come back in a rush. I eat the souls of dragons; I can beat this monstrosity alone if I wanted to! Bishop should only have to sit back and watch. As much as I think otherwise, I am not helpless. I am the Dragonborn. I beat Alduin, the eater of worlds, and consumed his soul. 

I have one shout I can use. It’ll take everything out of me, and I won’t be able to shout again for probably the rest of this fight, or maybe longer. The stupid thing also can’t decide friend from foe; but it should be a real  _ shock  _ to the dragon.

Wow, I didn’t even mean for that to be a pun.

“STRUN BAH QO!” I angle my head up, shouting into the skies. The world around us begins to change. The clouds, once fluffy and white, lose their purity and take on a rolling purplish black sheen, lightning hiding just below the surface. The winds pick up, whipping my hair into knots and clawing at my clothes. Rain bellows from the clouds, crying onto the earth with the ferocity of a heart-broken siren searching for her lost lover. The flames of the dragon die down into nothingness, enraging it further. It quiets down, moving its gaze from Bishop to me, standing just as silent in the middle of the crater. The sky rumbles, the flash of bolts lighting up to set the correct mood. This is a fight between monsters.

I’ve won this Deathmatch. I never expected this much to come from the shout. I must be angrier than I expected.

Lightning crashes down from the sky; angry deities ripping apart the clouds to rend anything that dare mar the grounds below. Bolts crash into the hide of the dragon, scorching its scales only to be put out by the rain. Its tail bursts into flames from a strike of electricity, earning myself a distraught roar from the beast. A few more strikes to the wings and it's too weak to fight on; it chooses to escape. The dragon lifts off cautiously, relieved to find no more lightning. 

Another ice storm finds its way into my palm; with a smug grin I hurl it to the dragon. The icy tendrils of the storm rip apart its wings, sending it hurtling to the ground. The ground quakes with a deafening boom when it lands, sadly letting out a moan.

Another dragon downed. 

I summon a battleaxe to my hands, heaving it over my shoulder as I approach the wyvern. It only feels right to finish the poor creature off quickly. Such a proud dragon deserves to be done in with dignity.

…

“You okay?” I peek into the tower, finding Bishop leaning against the wall, fingers wrapped around his necklace. He breathes a sigh of relief when I walk in, shakily getting to his feet. 

“You’re burned!” I gasp, seeing the right side of his shoulders singed.

“Yeah, but I can’t feel any pain.” 

“That’s called shock.”

“You don’t look so good yourself! Look at your arms!” I look down, seeing my forearms ripped to ribbons. I paid a heavy cost when I broke down my swords like that. “And you can’t see it, but there’s a gash in your face from when you accidentally cut yourself.”

“Burns. Sit.” I command, patting the scraggly table that still somehow stood in the tower. 

“Yes, Doctor Rowan.” He sighs, boosting himself up onto the table. I hand him a potion of regeneration, willing the honied light to come to my hands. “My arrows did jack shit, Rowan.”

“That’s usually how it is.” I sigh. “I’m just glad it didn’t end up worse for you.”

“Says the dumbass with half her body in the dragon’s jaws!” He protests, resisting the urge to move to face me. 

“Dragonborn.” I remind him.

“Ranger.” He replies back. I shrug, moving on to his lower bicep. 

“It’s not because you’re not strong. Dragons just...can’t be done in by mortals easily.”

“You seem to have no trouble.” He replies bitterly. 

“Yeah, by fighting words with more words.” I pause, looking up into his eyes. I wipe away the locks of hair that have fallen onto his face, brushing them back for him. His hands grab mine, taking my fingers and splaying them apart. He intertwines my digits with his, comparing our hand sizes with a frown. “Bishop, I can’t heal you with one hand.”

“You’re so small, yet can fight something dozens of times older and larger than you.” He mutters. “I envy you, Ladyship.”

“I don’t see why.” I sigh, tucking my hair behind my ear as I set to work on his arm again. “When it comes to the occult, I can fight without thinking. But I’ve become such an awkward fighter when clashing with other humans. Bishop...Dragons are predictable. They shoot fire, slash their tails, and gnash their teeth. Humans are not. I need you around for them. Leave the dragon fighting to me; but I need you around for the more dangerous game.”

“Ladyship, you really did kill that first dragonborn, didn’t you? You actually did go to the realm of that daedric prince, and beat Miraak in a dragon battle?”

“It was quite  _ Miraakulous _ .” I giggle.

“How do you do that?” He chuckles, standing up once I’ve finished healing him. He ducks out the door, looking to the smoldering body of the dragon. I follow him out, laying my eyes on the lifeless body of the ancient dragon. Its skin flakes away, releasing its soul to my body in a rush of soft wind that only I can feel. 

“Skills and a good sense of humor.” I reply smartly.

“Good job, Dragonborn.” He finally says at last, watching the dragon fade into a skeleton.

“Thanks.” I grin, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re not too bad yourself, archer.”

“Aren’t you going to heal yourself?” He looks to my wounds, furrowing his brows. Wow. The man thinks I’m some hedgewitch. I cast a fast healing, watching the wounds on myself stitch up.

“Smartass.” He shakes his head. I kick back a regeneration potion, feeling my insides shift and shed their bruises. 

“I wonder what happens if I lick the dragon wall.” I look to the stone altar, the ivy and moss creeping along the edges making me change my mind about the experiment. “You check the chest.” I press my hand to the wall, waiting for the word to come to me.

_ Su _ . Air. Elemental Fury, to make my blades faster. I can certainly use that.

“Anything good?” He asks, handing me some gems. 

“It was okay. Now let’s get going, this place creeps me out.”

“What, you don’t like burning corpses?” He says sarcastically.

“Only on my bad days, Ranger.” I pause. “Now where did we stash Ashes and Gradient?” 

…

Back in the Reach. I suppose after dealing with Thonar, all my anxiety about this place has disappeared. Not that I’m completely at ease after killing a dragon, but I can now enjoy the pleasant atmosphere the plains offer. The smell of Juniper still permeates the winds here, mingling faintly no matter where you are here. Good memories, but I’m happy to let them lie. I’m glad to make new ones rather than linger on the old. 

“Where to now, Ladyship?”

“I don’t know. I suppose to the nearest town to send a courier to the Companions that we’re finished.” I figure. “But other than that, I don’t have anything else to do. Guess we’ll play by ear; I’m sure something will pop up.”

“Karthwasten is technically closer, but I don’t want to climb over all those mountains. Let’s just go to Dragons Bridge.”

“I don’t know...there’s a lot of Forsworn around here…” I look to my map. “I mean, I don’t know where, really, but-”

“We can just go across Deep Folk Crossing. There won’t be any trouble.” He sighs, looking down to Karnwyr. “Think of it, boy, our Dragonborn, scared of a few savages!” Karnwyr barks happily in response, chasing a butterfly that’s resting on a rock. How can these two be so carefree? 

Briar Hearts, as seemingly impossible as their existence is, are some of the most terrifying humans I’ve ever been pitted against. Hagravens are tricky in themselves; but when they’re allowed to use their old blood magic on a human? The result is a warrior who moves so fast and has so much stamina I’ve nearly lost my life to one a few times. I’ve seen them rip apart a poor werewolf who stumbled into their camp looking for hearts in mere moments, as if it was made of wisp wrappings. 

“Ladyship, if you keep looking so concerned, your face is going to freeze like that.” Bishop throws  his shirt at me lightly, hitting me square in the forehead. 

“Is this sweaty!?” I rip it off of my face, throwing it back at him. Of course he took off his shirt. 

“I got hot.” He stretches, putting the tunic into his pack behind him. “The winds have died down, and ever since you summoned that storm, there haven’t been any clouds. I can take the cold, but I don’t like the heat.”

“Opposite of me.” 

“Yeah, I can tell. Scooting your bedroll so close to the fire I think you’re going to burn to a crisp.” He groans.

“Yeah? Well you move  _ your  _ bedroll so far back I think I’m going to wake up with you looking like a snow troll!”

“I prefer ice, you prefer fire.”

“Yeah, like a sensible person.”

“If I get cold, I can always put on more clothes. But you can only take off so much when you get hot.”

“But I don’t get hot!”

“Then perhaps you’re broken.” He pauses. “Or stupid.”

“Why would that be because I’m stupid?” I look down to a small puddle of water, crystal clear as can be. Convenient! I suppose that storm I summoned is pretty handy. “Bishop, hold on. My waterskin is empty.” I slide off my horse, kneeling by the pool as I dunk my horn into the water. A quick splash of water to my face, and I feel at least slightly refreshed from the dragon fight. Still, a proper river would be nice.

“Mine was about empty.” He refills his as well, crouching beside me. I turn towards Ashes, patting her side lovingly as I grab onto the saddle.

“Okay, let’s get going-” An arrow slams into Ashes’s side, sending her into a frenzy. A pronged arrow. She bucks, kicking invisible enemies behind her, and finishes with a leap into the air to spur her retreat. “Forsworn!” I yell to Bishop as Ashes runs away towards cover. Bishop can barely react before Gradient has split too, leaving their masters stranded.

“Damn!” Bishop says, pressing his back to mine. I summon an atronach, frantically searching the juts of rock along the ground. Are they hiding behind them? “Karnwyr, we’re going to attack.” The wolf quiets in knowing, a deep rumble emitting from his core. 

“Laas!” I call, looking around for red light. “Bishop, they’re everywhere!”

“Yeah, I can tell.” But they weren’t doing anything. Just...sitting there. Like they didn’t want to attack us; just watch. “Are they...waiting?”

“I don’t know.” I pause, swallowing hard. “What are we going to do!?”

“Ladyship, I hope you still have some fight in you.” Bishop says. “I’m too tired for this…”

“Agreed, but it’s not like I can wish these people away.” 

“Do we keep waiting? Should we put on a show?” His growl is not much above a lupine snarl, rumbling from whatever beast is nestled inside of him. I guess he’s still thirsty for blood, but I doubt his body can compete now.

“ _ MID VUR! _ ”

“What in Oblivion did that do!?” He nocks an arrow, still looking for a forsworn to shoot.

“You’ve got increased speed to attack faster.” I say hastily. “What are they waiting for!?”

All at once, as if my asking brought it upon us; arrows rain down like hell itself was upon us. I fire a column of flames above us, burning off the arrows that threatened to scalp us. I’m drained by the end of it; sweat is on my brow and I can feel the exertion. My atronach is dead, and I can’t summon another.

We’re both exhausted from the dragon fight. This is insane; fighting the forsworn when we’re both near the breaking point. Neither of us have healed fully; magic can only heal so much before the body has to take over. My forearms still ache, and I’m sure Bishop is having a sore time moving his shoulder.

“Bishop, I’m out of magic…” I pause. “I hope you have a plan, because I don’t.”

“Yeah.” He pauses to accept the potions I give him. “Fight. How many were there?”

“Fifteen or more.”

“I’ll take those odds.” He growls, letting Karnwyr break out into a sprint. He chases out the Forsworn from around the rocks, letting Bishop shoot them in retribution. Now, for my side…

They’re no Karnwyr, but I have enough magic now for a few weak flaming familiars. The fire wolves spawn out of Oblivion, diving behind the rocks and exploding with a bang. At least I can see my attackers now. 

With their cover blown, they dot the rocks around us. Divines look after us…

I loose off a few shots, taking out one or two forsworn. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. A new wave of arrows comes to greet me, and despite my effort to dive out of the way, a stray one burrows into the flesh in my leg. I can feel the strain on my heart immediately; they’re poisoned. Why is every damn arrow poisoned!?

“Bishop! Look out, they have poison on them!” I cry, wrenching the arrow out of my leg as I duck behind a rock of my own. Damn...

“Why is it always poison with us!?” He roared.

“I’m asking the same thing!” I screech back, nearly dodging another arrow. “Alright, you bastards, come on! Face me!”

I shouldn’t have said that.

Not all of them were archers.

Four warriors run up to meet me, the others staying back to shoot. Fantastic. No help is going to come from Bishop; I can hear him clashing with forsworn behind us. He’s just as tied up as me, perhaps doubly so. A knife can only do so much. As precise and quick as it can be, I’m sure the forsworn can be quicker.

I down a potion of magicka, feeling the power flow back in. First, a healing spell. Then two swords. I jump up above my rock, sliding down and using the momentum to slash at the first. I catch him in the chest, slitting his torso vertically to incapacitate him. I doubt he’ll die, but he’s going down. He drops slowly to one knee, nicking my thigh with those toothed blades of theirs and sending me toppling into the second. Even though it’s embarrassing to be kicked around like that, I use the surprise to kick the blade out of the second’s hand and slash his throat as humanely as I can. Now for the third and fourth…

My blood runs cold as a I hear an unnatural thump and distressed barking. My eyes flash wide open, filling my veins with the fury of the gods.

Bishop.

God damn these people. 

I slam my foot into the ankle of the third, hearing a bone break. I pound my elbow into his face, knocking him unconscious with the movement. The other raises his arm to strike, not expecting me to grab him by the throat and shove him down onto my own dagger. Out of the corner of my eye I see the archers, finally settling that they have a clear shot on me and decide to let loose their arrows. I spin towards them, letting the arrows sink into the flesh of the dead forsworn I have in my clutches. 

Bishop.

I summon an atronach, using it as cover as I look back towards the ranger. An arrow protrudes from his thigh; the poison was too much. Karnwyr is crouched on top of him, doing his best to seem intimidating to protect his master, but he’s not enough to keep the forsworn from reaching him. I need to get over there. I scramble over the rock, relying on the one thing I know will work.

“Daedra?” I call in the back of my mind. “Come on, I don’t have time to find you.”

“ _ Yes, child? _ ”

“Take over.” At my firm words it hesitates, trying to detect a trap. It peers through my eyes, looking at the situation I’ve fallen into. Its tendrils creep into my mind, accepting the responsibility with a devious grin.

“ _ Rest, dragonborn. _ ” It sings sweetly, letting me simply sit back and ease my weary mind. 

 

R̴͚̙̤͛̈́̋e̯̣̠̳̺̞͛͊̌͌̔ͮ̈́s̩t̩̜̬͍̜̳ͨ̊ͭ̾̍ͧͅ.͙̥͇̦̱͚ͪ͒̀

 

Don’t mind if I do. I watch my body come to rest next to Bishop. I’ve switched my hold on my swords, they now face backwards just like the forsworn are prone to doing. What am I doing? Matching their speed?

An arrow comes towards me, slowing down in the air. I duck under it, sliding to the forsworn beside me and shoving my blade through his stomach as if he were made of smoke. I slash through him horizontally, tackling the other forsworn over Bishop and puncturing his neck with a blood curdling war cry.

Can my vocal cords even  _ do  _ that? 

I sense a sword coming my direction, making my warning sirens scream. I twist myself around, catching the blade on my own. It bites into the conjuration, chipping the nonexistant blade. The daedra’s fury doesn’t particularly care, though. I drop the spell, pummeling my fist into the face of the forsworn. Another arrow and he’s dead, pinned against the rock for the wilds. Now for the rest of the archers...

The arrows that pierce my flesh feel like nothing; the poison no longer matters. I raise my bow, nocking the arrows and pull the string, but I never take the time to aim. My arrows fly off and sink into their targets, feeding my rage. A firebolt hits me square in the back, and the daedra whirls around and summons a fireball of his own.

Yet I can’t fire it.

All at once, a blunt blow to the base of my neck connects, the strike full of unbridled fury. 

As it would seem, even the daedra lose. 


	14. A Change in Season

Bishop wakes up in a wet-smelling cave, trapped in a metal cage. Gods, what happened to Rowan!? All he can remember is being paralyzed on the ground, and Rowan becoming a daedra incarnate and tearing those forsworn to shreds.

Perhaps she wasn’t kidding about that possession thing.

Where is she now? Where is HE now? 

Bound and sitting in a metal cage, apparently.

He brings up his mental map, trying to remember any landmarks. They were at Dragontooth Crater, so...uhhh. He has no clue. He won’t admit it to Rowan, but he never particularly stayed around the Reach too much; the hunting is not too good and it’s way too open for him. How did he get here?

Well, the forsworn. That was an easy discovery. There are dozens here, farming, smithing, talking, shooting. But where is Rowan? Where did they take her? Or did she escape? He lost consciousness after that war cry. He didn’t think she had that kind of power in her; she was usually a more laid back gal who reserved her strength for actual combat. 

“He’s awake!” A forsworn announces to the rest, earning a mutual grunt from everyone present.

“Thank you.” A calm voice says, approaching the cage. “Well hello there, dark one.”

“Who in Oblivion are you?” Bishop struggles against his binds, trying to see if he can get a hand free. If only; the binds are tighter than he can even hope to wiggle out of. 

“My name is Cael.” The man replies simply. Trashy war paint, blond hair, slender, furs around his waist. Yep, Bishop already hates this guy. “And who are you?”

“None of your damn business. Where is the girl who was with me? Where’s Rowan?!” Bishop growls, looking around. He can only see this upper platform; and the forge and table are not too much to look at.

“But why are you in that cage, dark one?” Cael squats down in front of the cage, curiously studying Bishop like an animal.

“Two accounts of theft, a murder, and worst of all, lollygaggin’.” Bishop spits, looking around. “What do you think!? Your savage friends captured us!”

“Is that so…” Cael stands back up. “I wonder where the dragonborn is.”

“She escaped?” Bishop heaves a sigh of relief, shifting to his knees. If she’s free, she’ll come back for him. Probably sneak up here, pick the lock, and throw an invisibility potion at his face so hard it leaves an imprint for days.

“Oh, probably not.” Cael says simply, watching Bishop writhe. “She’s here, I just don’t know where we’re hiding her. I’m trying to figure that out myself. A sparrow can only be stashed so many places…”

“How the hell would you not know where she is!?”

“I just got here, dark one. My village is far away.” He stands up and walks off, disappearing down into the lower level of the cave. Of course they’d be separate. The dragonborn is probably hidden somewhere; gagged and bound, awaiting some sick forsworn.

A group of ornately dressed men approach Bishop’s cage, peering into the bars at him. Those damn helmets...he couldn't look into their faces. These were the chieftains; the full deer headdress, loose fitting fur armor, and the skulls of their enemies jangling around their belts. Dear God... Or more like  _ Deer  _ God...

Great. As soon as he’s apart from Rowan, his brain starts making the same shitty puns she makes. Cael, or whatever his name was, stood among them. Obviously the youngest, but still respected as it seemed. The others crowded around him, letting him be the one to stand closest to the cage. Any closer, and Bishop may just be able to grab him...

“Madanach!” One of them calls. “What do we do with him, King?”

“Well…” The one they called Madanach walks up, looking to Bishop. Ah, the king of these dreamers still clinging to their old ways. Teeth hung from every part of his body, draping onto the fur armor he wore. Unlike the others, he was not clean shaven; shaggy dreads and ample facial hair rimmed his mouth. “What are you thinking, wolf?”

“Although he has slaughtered our brethren, it is true they struck first.” Cael lingers on his last word, finishing. “However, death for one such as him would not be misplaced.”

“And what of the dragonborn?”

“She is…” Madanach starts.

“She will be dealt with later. In her case, the situation may be a bit more delicate.” Cael says for him. “Our only concern is…” Cael motions to Bishop.

“What is your name?” Madanach finally says a full sentence.

“Why do you need to know?” Bishop steps into a crouch, shakily making it to his feet. The poison is still in his body, he can’t be moving around too much. The necklaces should be...

Wait a second.

“Where is my necklace?” He looks down at his bare chest. Gods, they even stripped him down to his pants. His armor and belt is gone, along with his gold, his bow, Rowan’s amulet, and his two rings. Technically, Karnwyr is missing too. “Where is my everything!?”

“They were confiscated from you, dark one.” Cael leans against the cage. “If you are decided to be not guilty, they will be returned to you.”

“He is worth nothing to us.” A chieftain growls. “Why is killing one nord anything to us? We are the forsworn! We have killed hundreds like him!”

“Where are you from, dark one?” Cael ignores his fellow chieftain.

“Falkreath. We’re both from Falkreath.” If they found out Rowan was from Markarth, they’d kill her.

“He has no claim in our lands.” Cael deduces, looking to the rest of the chieftains. “He was just passing through, about to exit the Reach, and we were the ones who stopped him.”

“Your point!?” Another chieftain stamps, drawing his sword. “He has killed our brethren. The nord scum is ours to slay, and yet you defend him!?”

“The wolf is right. He was leaving. And, as it would seem, he and the dragonborn took care of our dragon problem up at the crater.” The chieftain pauses. “He has committed crimes against us by using our ancestral lands. But surely we owe him for taking care of that dragon who rained down fire against YOUR village, Gemlag?”

“We will let him go.” Cael says adamantly, his calm voice soothing the other Chieftain’s anger. “But…” His voice grows harsher, from an animal not entirely his own. “If he dare contest us again, he will be slain without mercy and offered to the old gods.”

“Everyone in agreement?” Madanach looks around the semicircle, finally settling back on Bishop. “Best thank your savior, boy. The forsworn have never been merciful to anyone.”

“Someone...you there, by the forge.” Cael snaps, unlocking the cage from a key on his belt. Bishop is pulled out of the cage by a stronger force than expected, into the clutches of two waiting forsworn. One has black stitching across his midriff, crisscrossing his abdomen in a morbid procedure. Black tendrils creep out from the wound, extending all around the injury as if ripping him apart. 

“You’re not dead!” Bishop exclaims, looking to him. He still carries the wounds Rowan gave him, along with other scratches that littered his body.

“The hagravens spared me.” The man says simply. The woman forsworn, the other one holding Bishop’s arm, brushes his midriff gently.

“You’re lucky you survived.” She says quietly, tightening her grip on Bishop’s arm. “Nord scum, I still think you should perish.”

“If the chieftains will him to be spared, it will be done.” The man says. “Giea, we do not question.” They haul Bishop down the ramp, creating a spectacle for all the other forsworn. 

“ _ A nord! _ ”

“ _ Target Practice? _ ”

“ _ Where is the girl? _ ” One continues on. “ _ They both need to pay for their sins! _ ”

“ _ She is further inside. Do not question further. _ ”

“ _ The chieftains are letting him go free? _ ”

  
“He can’t be allowed to lead anyone back here.” The woman holding him says, bringing out a leather blindfold. “We will need to lead him far from here.” 

“So be it.” The man decides. “I know where to leave him.” He slides Bishop’s dagger back into its holster. If only he didn’t have these bindings, he could reach it…

“Easy, nord.” The woman says. “I am putting your necklace back on. You are very lucky to have it. It saved your life.”

“Tip whoever enchanted that for you.” The man grunts. “We are taking your gold. However, we will leave your two rings.”

“Thanks, I suppose.” Bishop tilts his head back, relieved to feel Rowan’s pendant back where it belongs. “Can I have the Dragonborn’s bag too, since she’s not going to need it?”

“You sick…” The male forsworn says. “Fine!”

“It is a pretty necklace…” The woman picks it up off his chest, looking at the engraving.

“Don’t touch it!” Bishop snaps, wrenching his neck away to snap it from her grasp. “Let’s get this over with. I need to head back to Falkreath.”

“Hm.” The woman tutts with her tongue, taking his arm again. “And not a word about your companion. You really are cold-hearted, are you not?”

“That bitch, impaling me like that. I’ll be the first to have a crack at her when it’s her time, I swear it.” 

“Tarich! Mind your tongue.” The woman tugs Bishop outside. He can feel the sunshine on his skin, seemingly less cheery than usual. All of his senses seemed dulled; the pit in his stomach is full of rage and nothing else. All he can do to keep his sanity is imagining himself ripping these forsworn apart and getting his Ladyship back, and then figuratively ripping her apart for making him do this.

“You’ll do no such thing…” Bishop mutters, trying to wrench himself from their grasp. He’s met with teeth sticking into the skin along his neck, drawing blood in wet, hot strips.

“Keep struggling and we’ll just kill you and leave you for the bears.” The man warns. As much anger he has pent up, releasing his rage with these two will simply lead to his death. He needs to find his way back…

So he begins whistling. Karnwyr, you mutt, where are you? 

“Stop that!” The woman says, shoving him forward. 

“What can I say-I’m nervous.” Bishop lies. Quite the opposite. He’s itching to rip these people apart. For Rowan’s sake, he can’t. Not yet. 

…

**Bishop**

“We are going to unbind your hands. Do not take the blindfold off for three minutes, and if we see you, we’re shooting on sight.” The man grunts, slicing the bindings on my wrists. I obey, just for now. Hopefully my living breadcrumbs worked, or Hansel isn’t going to be able to get Gretel back.

Hansel also has to resist the urge to kill these two. If they don’t return, it’ll be suspicious.

Three minutes pass by so slowly. Where is Rowan? What’s happening to her? Is she alright? Is she injured? She has to be; she took three arrows to the chest and one to the leg. What are those bastards doing to her? They wouldn’t be…

No. Rowan would never even let them close enough to do that. 

But there’s still that worry.

It’s definitely been three minutes, right? Either way, if it hasn’t been, he’ll just rip apart that forsworn. He grabs his dagger, slicing the leather over his face and assessing where he was. They made him march for a few hours, each muttering their own abuses to him. As if that’d have any effect; he doesn’t give a shit about the struggles of the reachmen. All he cares about is his own skin-

And Rowan. God damn that woman. If it wasn’t for her, he could simply walk away from all of this. But no...now he has to take on an entire camp of forsworn to get her back. She doesn’t realize it, but she drives him more than just crazy. Insane, every time she greets another man. Her teasing, joking about Vilkas…

He really did want to tie her up; not let any man lay eyes on her. But that wouldn’t work, she’d worm her way out and continue, the same as always, with that brave face of hers. Bishop had worked his ass off these past three months, slowly coaxing emotions out of her. In the beginning, all she gave were petty grins that showed no meaning. Now, every time she smiled it was something special. Her entire face would light up, and her gaze would soften and meet with his; and how she would tense up anytime he brushed up against her on accident just drove him crazy. How every time she stumbled into him, all he wanted to do was crush her against him and let her sleep. She didn’t just talk in her sleep, she had full blow nightmares, complete with battle banter.

Everything was revealed at night. Bishop knew that; everyone lifted their masks once the sun dipped below the horizon. Like how once a parent leaves, the children think everything is fair game. Rowan had a side like that too; but she fought it herself instead of just letting it run wild. She wasn’t scared; that’d be too easy. But she doubted her skills. She’d whisper her concerns of learning her first shout. She’d whimper about how there was no way she could slay a dragon. The only thing he could do to shut her up was to slowly sweep her into his arms without her knowing, pressing her gently into his chest to quiet the nightmares. It killed that she didn’t know, or just refused to address her fears. Sticking on that same face of hers when she woke, only switching it off when Bishop looked at her by throwing some snide comment or running away from his gaze.

That stupid girl actually believed him all those times he said she wasn’t his type. 

In all honesty, his ‘type’ changed when he met her. Now, it was a blond breton, with a sabre cat scar, who only showed any real emotion when he teased her. You would think she would have put two and two together by now; he wasn’t just after her body. Granted, he wouldn’t say no to a naked Rowan ever in his life, but he’d much rather just figure out she shouldn’t be too friendly with every man she meets that’s even a tad bit nice to her. Vilkas, for example. You could see he was tripping over her; he was definitely going to ask to court her when he called her down to Jorrvaskr. Bishop had to stare him down as soon as they walked in to psych the boy out. He made up that potions thing on the fly.

Now then. Time to quit thinking about Rowan and actually get his Ladyship back. He whistles for Karnwyr, finding his wolf had already returned by his side. 

“Where is it?” Bishop asks, looking to Karnwyr’s steely gaze. The wolf knows where she is, it would seem.


	15. Forgot my joke for this One

**Rowan(?)**

I wake up in a small, dark room. The walls are soft to my touch, but I can’t see them. There’s a blindfold in my way. I kneel down on the bed I’m on, pressing my forehead into the furs and pulling down to shove the cloth off of me without using my hands. They, interestingly enough, are bound behind my back, along with my ankles. I’m bound and gagged, it would appear; and not in the fun way. 

Now that I can see, I’m definitely in a cave. But beyond that, I have nothing to go on. There’s the bed I’m sitting on, and that’s...it. There’s a door, sure. But that doesn’t count.

I’d ask  _ where am I? _ , but there’s a more pressing question at hand.

**_Who_ ** **am I?**

Do I live here? I guess not, unless I do really weird things in my alone time to wind up bound like this. So am I captured? Am I being punished for something? Does someone know I’m in here? What will happen to me? Where am I right now? 

Let’s go over what I do know. I was born in High Rock. I know magic. I can feel that bubbly feeling under my skin that can only be determined to be something mystical. I’m blonde, my hair is in a braid, that’s cool. I’m a breton. And…

That’s it. That’s all I got. 

“Dragonborn?” a man calls. “Oh wait, you cannot respond.” The source of the voice ducks in, followed by several other men. They wore funny headdresses, with furs loosely circling their waists. And I mean  _ loosely _ .

“Someone remove the gag.” One of the men steps forward, cutting the cloth gag keeping me from speaking. His knife settles at my throat, sending a tingling sensation through my body.

New thing learned: I do NOT like things pressed against my neck. 

“Shout, and you are dead.” The man says. I go to nod, realizing that would just injure me.

“Got it.” I respond. I guess I’m a captive, then.  
“So then, Dragonborn…” The original man without a headdress steps forward. He’s attractive; a half-nord, half-breton mix. He favors his breton side; slender with modest muscles and a tight frame. He has hair more blond than my own, with warpaint that rims his eyes, making them seem hallowed. I guess he’s the leader?

“I mean, you’re calling me dragonborn, but I think you have the wrong person…” I scratch my neck, immediately drawing my hand away as I feel the tenderness.

“What?” One of the men asks. They look like...chiefs? Chiefs of the...what are they called…? “We saw her using shouts north of here. We all did.”

“I...uh…” I pause, trying to think. I was shouting? What was I saying? Why can’t they shout? Is there something wrong with their vocal cords? “I don’t...know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s lying.” A chieftain hisses. “We should kill her! She’s a huge risk to have here…” 

“Lying?” I furrow my brows. Is it lying if I may have done what they said, but genuinely don’t know? “Since...you seem to know, who am I?”

That hit them like a ton of bricks.

“Who...you are?” The blond man asks. “You cannot remember?”

“No.” I blink, looking down to check my mental library for any memories. “I can remember my childhood in High Rock. Is that where we are?”

“You are in the Reach, the ancestral home of the forsworn. It is located between High Rock and Skyrim.” I’m told. They’re glancing to each other, exchanging sinister stares. I can’t help but shift in my seat; am I going to be killed? I probably had things to live for.

“Uh…” I start, trying to think if I know anything. “I remember crossing the border with a caravan, in the spring. Is it spring? Though I thought we were supposed to go to Solitude, so how I got here is weird.”

“You...really cannot remember who you are?” One steps forward from the crowd, bending down slightly to look me in the eyes. He doesn’t have a creepy headdress either; his bushy mustache and shaggy hair cover enough of his face so I guess he doesn’t need one.

“No?” I look to each of them, trying to read the situation. “Am...I important? You called me dragonborn, so…” I don’t want to say it, but were my parents dragons!? The only clear memory I have is walking around with a wagon.

“I suppose we were mistaken.” The bearded one says hastily, shooting looks to the chieftains around him. “You are safe with the forsworn. We found you outside; you had hit your head on a rock when you fell off your horse.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. Blunt trauma to the base of the neck could cause memory loss. Why did I know that? “You said I shouted. What did I shout?”

“You shouted ‘Ow’ really, really loud.” One of the chieftains shifts forward, drawing my attention. “We heard it over the hill, and you were already unconscious.”

“Why was I bound?” I look down to my legs. “Why am I  _ still  _ bound?”

“Because we didn’t know if we could trust you.” The shaggy one says. “And the gag was so you wouldn’t scream when you woke up. There is an important meeting going on here between chieftains, we didn’t want to disturb work.”

“Are you the chieftains?”

“We are.” The blond one answers.

“Then how would I disturb you?”

“We didn’t know when you would wake.” He nods to the man holding me, and I feel the binding on my hands and feet slip away. “Now then. We will be right back with some food.”

“Are you going to send me on my way?”

“Do you remember where you were going?”

“Good point.”

“You may stay here, with us, until you are better.” The blond man says. I like him better; he seems trustworthy and his tone was soft even before they figured out I lost my memory. Maybe they fight Bretons often, and thought I was a spy? Let’s go with that story; it makes me sound cool. It’d be best to stick with him, then. He seemed the least interested in hurting me.

…

“What do we do? The dragonborn is in our clutches, believing anything we tell her.” Madanach grins. “This is perfect! The force of a dragon, in our hands!”

“She has a considerable bounty.” A chieftain says. “It is posted all throughout Skyrim, but she has some high ones here in the reach. That money could fund our cause.”

“She had more than enough money on her to fund our cause. We shouldn’t play by the rules of the Jarls.” Cael crosses his arms, leaning against the cave wall. They had returned to the upper level of the cave, far out of earshot of Rowan. “You, Vec! Go bring the dragonborn some food, and stay with her. Make sure she doesn’t leave.”

“Yes, chieftain.” The man says, looking around for food. Once he finds some, he loads it on a plate and hauls it off, bounding down the ramp happily.

“Are you sure...he is a good choice?” A chieftain looks after Vec, hesitation in his voice.

“Vec, although he is a bit of a failure of a warrior, will be a better tether than any rope.” Cael watched him leave.

“If you say so, wolf.” Madanach sighs, sitting down. “Now then, what to do…”

“I still say collect her bounty. Perhaps we can negotiate, get them to raise the price if she is alive.”

“Or, we kill her ourselves, and mount her head on a pike. It’ll send the message we need to Skyrim-we are not to be messed with, and will eliminate any target that stands in our way!” One of the older chieftains plotted, a twisted scene playing out in his head. He had band tattoos striping his arm, denoting his age and allegiance to the craft of the old gods. In his chest, cleverly hidden by his clothing, was a briar heart, slowly pulsing with blood magic. 

“I…agree.” Another chieftain nods.

“Madanach?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” He decides. “Though, it still does seem like a waste. News may only spread that she is missing or gone.”

“Then why not use that power as our own.” Cael sits down at the table calmly, folding his hands in front of him and staring the King in the eyes. 

“What?” A chieftain asks, looking to Cael. “What are you suggesting?”

“The Dragonborn is in our care.” Cael states. “Why can’t we simply have her become one of us? Control the dragon, instead of execute it like the barbarians they say we are?”

“Why!” The briarheart slams his palms on the table, threatening everyone’s food with the floor. “Why! We are the forsworn! We should not rely on the strength of others!”

“If the Dragonborn has truly lost her memory, she could become one of us. Add to our strength and ours alone. Who you saw in that field was a weak dragonborn, weary after a fight with her own kin.” Cael paused, letting them all remember the dragon at the crater. “That freakish storm that formed today...I believe the dragonborn was the cause. To use such a power, such a ferocious power...we would offend the old gods by not using such an offering.”

With that, he had won them over. Just mention pleasing the old gods and retaking the reach and the rest fell into place. Madanach nodded in understanding, a twinkle in his eye that revealed his stance on the crisis. The others had been sworn to Cael’s side as well; the thought of such a destructive force being commanded by them was enough.

“After that, I think it’s obvious just what we’re doing. Now who will take the dragonborn?”

“I will.” Cael volunteers immediately.

“Oh no you won’t!” The briarheart pounds the table with a fist, gnashing his teeth in fury. “The wolf of the reach only wishes to help himself!”

“Myself, and that poor table you keep pummeling with your fists.” Everyone chuckled at the joke, save for the briarheart. He was losing ground fast; Cael would be the one to win this debate. “I will do my best to convert the dragonborn to our side. Should that become impossible, I will slay her with my own hands. Does this satisfy your lust for blood, Treyarch?”

“I suppose.” The briarheart sits, knowing fighting further would be useless. “But if I believe there is any reason you may be breaking your word, I will slay her myself and throw her to the hagravens. Understood?”

“I see no reason to disagree.” Cael nods. “We have finished all of our business, yes?”

“I suppose.” Madanach nods. “We will take the reach, Brothers!”

“Forsworn forever!” His words were met with the cries of the table’s occupants, the generals of the forsworn. With his words, the meeting had ended, and the Dragonborn’s fate had been sealed.

…

“Why…” Bishop walks into the cave Karnwyr led him to, peering into the darkness. What happened!? Only a few forsworn remain in the place. That King sits at the top, consulting with an orc. Some sit farming and shooting targets, not nearly as filled as it was during the day. Are they asleep or actually gone? Doesn’t matter. Either is fine. He’ll get Rowan out. They said she was deeper in the cave…

He digs through Rowan’s pack, surprised at what’s in it. Potion ingredients? That’s it? A tunic and a pair of breeches, and a ton of potion ingredients. He knows at the very bottom lies a book; The Tale of the Dragonborn. It’s somewhere in this pack, he thinks. She’s a sap. Well, if that doesn’t sum up the kind of person she is, he doesn’t know what does. His fingers scratch at the bottom, rooting around for something she found when they had just met. Here it is; a small white vial. He saw her pick it up out of the barkeep’s station and pack it lovingly in her pouch, muttering something about vampire dust and nirnroot. Hopefully she’ll forgive him for drinking it. 

Bottom’s up, then.

He didn’t expect the burning sensation to begin at his toes; but it felt as if he were on fire. Then, from his head he was cooler than ice. The feelings clashed in the pit of his stomach, and when he finally looked down at his toes, couldn’t see them. It had worked. He only has a limited time to do this…

He creeps into the cave, walking on the pads of his feet like he did while hunting. No mistakes. Not with Rowan’s life at stake. The cave is less boisterous than before, and that King Madanach is the only one who seemed to hold any authority. Perhaps this is the headquarters? Then why were all the chiefs here before?

For a meeting, he’d wager. They had to coordinate somehow, and with their king free, the forsworn agenda could be kicked into full gear. Now...they said Rowan was further inside...but he doesn’t see any doors? 

He has to keep looking. Creeping along this wall as quietly as he could is exhausting, but if Rowan was locked up, he’d have to help her. She’s going to owe him so many drinks after this…

From this angle, he could see a dip in the cave wall up on the higher platform, just past Madanach. God, this would be hard… He should have grabbed a stealth potion from Rowan’s bag too, but of course he forgot. She had always handled the potions before. He had never even relied on the bottles before, as they were called by the less talented nords. He was raised to view them as just a coward’s way out, but they allowed the user to become anything they wished, if only for a short time.

Which completely sounds like a description for a dangerous drug, but it was true.

Once up on the ramp, he was finally in earshot of the other forsworn. Madanach was especially loud, and apparently rip-roaringly drunk. At least the smell of mead would mask his own scent, but he doubted any of the savages had a good enough nose. If they did, they’d die from their own body odor.

“The Wolf of the Reach...a fitting name.” One of the forsworn sitting at the tables says, shuddering. “So calm and nice, yet so murderous…”

“The boy? Why, he’s just as much of a leader of the forsworn as I am. Reminds me of myself when I was younger.” Madanach burps. “Only nineteen, and already strong enough to make an entire village stand strong.”

“His village is much too passive for our tastes.” Another forsworn kicks a drink back, sighing. “The forsworn are a military force to be recognized, not friendly neighbors.”

“Ah, I see you are one of his many critics. It is true he does not just attack on sight, but to think him weak in battle is the last mistake you can make.” Madanach pauses, setting his bottle down. “He is concerned with the slow game, in no rush like us old timers are. He’s content to sit and pick at the mountain by carrying one stone away at a time; meanwhile, we are trying to blast at the mountain and avoid being crushed by the rubble.”

“That is one way to look at it…” A female forsworn looks to him. “But if he wishes to sit back, why did he take the Dragonborn? Wouldn’t Treyarch have put her to better use?”

“Perhaps. But I do not know what the wolf is planning. Cael is a tricky one.” Madanach bangs his fist on the table, masking Bishop’s attempt at opening the door. It swings open just barely, emitting a tiny squeak drowned out by the King’s antics. He slips inside, already aware of the contents.

His princess was in another castle.

However, he could use these bindings. He picks up the leather and cloth that littered the bed and floor, feeling the anger rise up in him again. The room smelled like juniper and forsworn. Gods damn these people, he could do nothing about it now. He had to get out and find her, then he could come back and rend them limb from limb. For now, he had to find her, and Karnwyr was going to help.

“Come here boy, time to actually act like a tracker.” Bishop kneels before Karnwyr, letting him smell the bindings. Even with a human nose he could still smell the faint scent of juniper lingering on the bindings, taunting him. 

Karnwyr’s nostrils flared as he picked up the scent, planting his head close to the ground and swiping from side to side as if sweeping. Bishop follows him for some time, eventually recognizing the area they come to. The puddle they were attacked at sits to their right…

He whistles as loud as he can, hoping the two idiots hear. Sure enough, the two come trotting back to him.

_ At least one pair is still together. _

No, he’ll get her back. She can handle anything herself. Probably just waiting for him so they can slay that blond haired forsworn together.

Karnwyr leads him off again, pulling him further southwest. Back on the hunt, and back in his element with it. Hunting down his prey, however far it may wander from him.


	16. Me-ad you

“Vec, why do I have to wear this?” I look down to myself, blushing at the sight of the loose-fitting forsworn clothes. 

“Because Rawa, you’ll get the blessings of the Old Gods, but only if you’re wearing our traditional clothing. It marks us as theirs.” Vec packs away my old clothes into a chest in my tent. “You look good!” 

“I don’t know, it just feels...breezy.”

“In the beginning of time, none of us wore clothes anyway. Your body is nothing to be ashamed of!” Vec pulls her out of the tent, facing me towards the rest of the village. “Now! It is time to meet everyone else!”

“I get that, but what am I supposed to do?” I look out into the colorful village. Children play, chasing each other around only to be scooped up by their parents and hauled somewhere else, probably less dangerous. Archers fire at targets lazily, chatting and encouraging each other on. Two forsworn spar up on the highest tier of the village, shouting fake curses at each other and laughing like idiots. It’s quite the opposite of what I imagined after what happened at the cave. I’m not a fighter, or at least I don’t think I am, so I don’t know where I fit into all of this. Can I be of some use? I’d hate to just free load. 

“Whatever it is you feel you can.” Vec replies. My brown-haired companion is quite nice. It was obvious he was still a teenager; much younger than me at any rate. He actually wore britches and a tunic, but they were by no means normal clothes. His shorts, made from black cloth, were looped in with the same belt that held his kilt. His fur vest was adorned with beads that dangled from leather straps, tempting me to reach out and grab a few. Pouches of various sizes and shapes hung around him; from a dagger on his thigh that I’ve never seen him draw to small purses that rimmed the left side of his belt. His face was dark in some places; not from face paint, but dirt smudged onto his skin like camouflage. He had a wide brow and a round face that seemed incapable of frowning or showing any anger. Dark brown smiling eyes lit up his face pleasantly, and his lip had a slight curve at the end that made him always seem like he was contently smiling.

Cael, or Chief as most of the forsworn call him, assigned him to show me the ropes. “Me? I just braid hair and farm. And occasionally brew mead, but they always complain when I do that.”

“Well, you do one of those things well.” I look to my hair, neatly pulled back in a pretty braid that seems barely functional. I don’t think I ever really played with my hair, it was pulled into a hastily made braid when I woke up, but he seems to enjoy it. A few hours ago, right after the sun came up, all the women of the village-along with some men-came to him to have their hair braided. It was an odd thing to see, really. They like him well enough, but I can’t help but think he was supposed to be a warrior but didn’t have the thirst for blood. Well, that’s a good thing, because now he serves as my companion.

“Should we go eat?” He squints, looking up to one of the upper levels. The village is weird in structure, with different tiered platforms dedicated to different things. On the ground, where we stand, are all the sleeping tents and farms. Above us is the common area, where as of current everyone's eating. Across the bridge is some miscellaneous work tents, and down the stairs to the right is where they carry out their rituals; the shrine itself lays a hundred feet from the village. I don’t believe it to be true, but I hope I haven’t been brought here to become a part of that business. I know of the old gods, but I fear them, not revel in their presence. Magnus, Y’ffre; I don’t claim my soul to them. If anything, I prefer Shor since I kind of want to chill in Sovngarde, so that just deepens my case to stay out of their worship. They seem friendly enough at the moment, though. 

I have no clue why Cael would have reason to take me in. He knows nothing about my abilities or really anything about me; he has to have some ulterior motive. To risk the entire balance of his village just for me makes no sense; I overheard that they never take in outsiders not of their own kin. So why am I here? Why am I so special?

They called me dragonborn. Granted, they recanted their statement immediately, but I feel as if their accusation wasn’t misplaced. Am I Dragonborn? What does that mean? Who am I? 

I can shout? I don’t think that statement means I can yell really loud. It has to mean something else. At the moment I can’t trust anyone or anything as of yet; Vec is the closest to becoming a trustworthy source, but I still can’t put my faith in him. Failure of a warrior or not, Vec is one of them, through and through. Until I get my memory back, I can’t trust anything except my judgement and senses. If I’m really important, then other sources may be trying to come get me. 

If someone tries to immediately act like they’re my friend, I have to mark them suspicious. If I was so almighty, I must have traveled alone, right? Even now, as I stand in this village, I feel as though I should be by myself, wandering. It’s an odd need, I understand, but I’m drawn to seclusion. That could only mean I’m not used to people. 

Unfortunately, I can only sit and wait for my memories to come back.

“Let’s go get something to eat…” Vec looks into my face, worry overcoming his own countenance. “If you keep making that face, it’ll freeze like that.”

“Wait…” I pause. I’ve heard that before. My brain digs into itself, tearing my gray matter apart trying to find that phrase. 

“If you keep making that face, it’ll freeze like that?” He pauses. “Remember something?”

“No.” I pause. “Just threw me in more turmoil. I think I really miss someone, but I can’t remember who?”

“Probably someone from High Rock?” He says, trying to help. “Though, if you want my judgement, you’ve been in Skyrim for a long time. I’d say it’s a really old memory you have of when you were a kid.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I can remember my childhood a bit.” I sigh, following Vec up the stairs to go eat. I’m greeted by some awkward words of hello before I settle next to Vec and slowly bring a half of bread to my mouth. It’s good they eat this way; I don’t have to be afraid of being poisoned unless they want to play a pretty intense game of roulette. The table is filled with food and drink, it’d be an issue to kill me this way. 

“Good to see you up, Sparrow.” Cael swings in next to me, taking a seat and staring at my gaze. I give him my best frosted glare, but his own stare is kind and unwavering just like mine. I can’t help but look away first, feeling stupid. “Do you remember anything?”

“No.” I admit, picking up a wedge of cheese and sliding it into my half of bread. “But I do have the sudden urge to do this…” I hold it behind us all, blasting it with a little fire magic to melt the cheese inside and closing it again. I chew on it hungrily, pleased at the nostalgic idea.

“That’s an interesting urge.” He admits. “You remember nothing?”

“Nothing. But I can do a few spells…” I summon a dagger into my hands, stabbing my sandwich through and biting it that way like a kebab. “Seems like I’ve only lost my episodic memory, not my semantic or procedural. I remember what everything is and can function properly, but just can’t remember events.”

“Are you a healer? Those are terms only a true disciple of Kynareth would wave around.”

“I...don’t know.” I bring the golden light to my fingertips, basking in its glow. “I feel I am, but I don’t think it’s all of what I did.”

“You’re a Breton.” Vec states the obvious. “What are Bretons known for?”

“They are skilled at conjuration and potions…” Cael says idly.

“That’s it!” I snap my fingers, standing up. “Do you guys have an alchemy lab? Or an alembic?” I look around. “We’re in the Reach, right? There are tons of ingredients found here!”

“Any memories?”

“No memories, but I do think I dabbled in alchemy.” I pause. “Do you guys have a lab?”

“We can procure one for you.” He promises, nodding to one of the men near him. “It will be a new change around here, to have potions.”

“Well, if that will help, I’m more than happy to do that.” I blink awkwardly. “I think I’m pretty good, not to blow my own horn.”

“I believe you, Sparrow.” He gets up, walking off. So that’s Cael… he seems nice; tolerant of me at least, so perhaps this may work out. I wonder what he wants from me? 

“He’s interested.” Vec comments. “He’s taken an interest in you.”

“I don’t see why.” I continue with my cheesy goodness, ripping off a chunk. 

“I don’t know why either.” He shrugs. “But I can tell.”

...

“Rawa?” A man asks, tapping me on my shoulder. “The chieftain instructed me to get you an alchemy lab. Follow me.”

“You had one?” I say curiously, standing up. Vec gets up from behind me, as usual. It seems although he’s well liked, I’m the only friend he has here. That’s okay. I enjoy his company. “That was fast.”

“What the chieftains command, we do.” He grunts. “Though, personally, I’m pleased we’re getting an alchemist.”

“I wouldn’t call myself that…” I scratch the back of my neck nervously, ducking my head. “I just know how to make a few potions…”

“Here we go.” He leads us into one of the stone huts, where they’ve set up an alchemy lab. A small chest sits at my feet, supposedly for my ingredients. A few stock the shelves above the lab as well, making me breathe in nostalgically. 

“Remember anything?” Vec says hopefully. “Make sure you think about what you’re doing, maybe you’ll get your memory back if you try hard enough!”

“Vec!” The forsworn snaps, nearly dragging him outside and leaving me to my lab. I can hear them talking in hushed whispers outside. I have no clue what they’re saying, though. My entire attention is held by the alembic, beautifully crafted in green glass. Well, this’ll do. This will definitely do.

“I see you like it, Sparrow.” Cael ducks into the hut, looking at the many vials and bottles I’ve already filled. 

“Well, at least now I feel useful.” I mix some juniper in, watching the mixture turn a dark blue. “This one is for archers.” 

“Have you recovered any memories, Rawa?” He asks, a benign grin on his face. His hands were awkwardly behind his back, making my gaze flicker to them. Is he really trying to puff his chest out? Come on man, you’re a chief...

“Huh? Oh not yet.” I shake my head. I hear him sigh, almost with relief, and nod knowingly. 

“That is okay. You may stay with us until you recover them.” He says, pressing close to me and taking the bottle I just made out of my hand. “This is for...an archer?”

“Yes.” I nod. “Go get your bow; try it out for yourself!”

“I will.” He turns to leave, filling up the doorframe as it passes. I can’t help but notice how a large, crooked dagger swings from his hip, as if it’s just been released by a very anxious hand. I feel sorry for anyone on the end of that thing.

…

“So...just drink it?” He asks.

“Just drink it.”

“Well...if you say so.” He drinks the bottle, handing it back to me to be reused. It’s a funny thing, watching people drink potions for the first time. He blinks rapidly, looking around like a newborn babe. His gaze springs downward to his bow, and he lifts it shakily. A few more blinks and he’s nocked an arrow, aiming at a juniper tree far off. “I don’t even need to aim…” He says, letting the arrow fly. It catapults into its mark, burying itself past the arrowhead into the poor tree trunk.

“Do you like them?” I laugh, watching him freeze in what I hope to be amazement.

“They are quite good, Sparrow. You must be very versed in potions.” He observes, letting the potion wear off. “You certainly have a lot of skills…” He reaches over, caressing my hair gently.

I can’t move; too absorbed with the gentle demeanor he carries. He’s been too gentle, too kind to me ever since I got here. I don’t understand… I expected to be the outsider, locked away in a room. But I’m left to roam around the village with the same authority as the others. And while he keeps his distance, I can’t help but notice he’s trying to ensure I’m well received.

“Cael, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Though you may already know the answer.” He grins slightly, putting his bow away onto his back. How do I even begin? I need to piece together just what’s going on, why I’m here, and what I’m supposed to do. Who’s after me? What is the Dragonborn? What should I ask now? He’s been kind to me these two days I’ve been here, I shouldn’t act like I’m suspicious of him. 

“Did the other chieftains want to kill me?” I finally choke out, the pit in my stomach deepening at the expression his face pulls into.

“It is true our people lust for bloodshed…” Cael looks out into the village, breathing a sigh as he takes in its beauty as if for the first time. “But I believe, at the heart of it all, we are a displaced people just looking for our home. The Chieftains have forgotten this, and they almost killed one who did not deserve to die to prove it.  _ That  _ is why I took you in, Rawa.”

“Well, I suppose I owe you a proper thanks for saving me…” I pause, thinking it over. I don’t really have anything to thank him with, so I suppose I’ll just have to work extra hard. He put his own honor at risk just to help me out, the least I can do is be a semi-competent worker. “I don’t have anything, but I can offer my skills as a healer for your people…”

“That would be more than enough.” He chuckles to himself, gently grabbing my chin so he can look into my face. “For one as beautiful as you, the old gods would smite me down if I didn’t assist.”

“Ah…” I feel a blush tinge my cheeks, though I don’t hate his contact. He’s not too bad looking himself, though his face doesn’t carry as many scars as I know mine does. “Thank you…” I finally manage to mumble, making him chuckle further. 

“The sparrow, despite her many years, still blushes at the touch of a man.” He observes. “Cute.” 

“Hey!” I giggle, stepping away from him and looking out into the plains to conveniently hide my face. “Don’t tease your elders!”

“Elders?” A smile flickers on his lips, amused.

“I think I’m older than you.” I observe, looking back to him. Hopefully my face isn’t that red anymore. “Key word there being think.”

“I am nineteen. Do you remember your age?”

“Nope, but I bet it’s older than nineteen.” I snigger. “Though you’re as large as any man.”

“Well, to be chieftain, I had to mature pretty fast.” He looks up onto the fire pit above, seeing the villagers ready what looks like a welcoming feast. “Well Sparrow, it is time to fully join the family.” 

“Join...fully?”

“We are a family, even if not by blood.” He explains, sweeping me off my feet into his arms. I squirm around a bit, completely taken surprised. He picked me up like I was nothing! Despite my appearance, I do have quite a bit of muscle on me. There’s no way that’s an easy task. He carries me up the stairs, sitting by the large bonfire and settling me in his lap.

“Chieftain, I think she may overheat if her face gets any more red.” Vec observes, crouching next to us.

“Get us both a drink, if you would.” Cael ignores him, and I can feel a grin on his face. It seems despite his polite nature, he does enjoy teasing me a bit…! 

“Here you are!” Vec passes us two bottles of mead, giving me a fast wink. “We make it ourselves-it’s pretty potent stuff!”

“I think I can handle my alcohol alright.” I warn, showing my tongue between my teeth as I uncork the bottle. It smells of Juniper and pleasant spices, calming me immediately despite the gazes wandering to my figure. After a few seconds, everyone quiets down, and the stares glue themselves to Cael’s face as he clears his throat.

“Normally, I’d stand, but as it seems that is not possible at the moment.” I feel my face heat up more as laughter rings around the campfire, defusing the awkward tension that had begun to air. “Let’s welcome Rawa into our family. The Old Gods smile upon our extending village, and may it forever be prosperous.” 

Cheering erupted from around the cone of flames, and all at once I’m hauled out from my comfy seat in Cael’s lap. My hair is hastily pinned back and I’m dragged into the ring around the fire, and not soon after I can feel the beat of the deerskin drums in my core. I never thought I could dance, really, but once there’s a steady beat and the others are guiding you, it isn’t so hard.

…

“Rawa, you’ve had way too muchta drink!” Vec says drunkenly, laying down sideways on the stairs.

“Vec, you’re the one who’s drunk.” I point out, pulling a flower out of my braid and setting it on the side of the stairs. 

“I’m...I’m not drunk...you’re drunk!” Vec says, rolling over lazily. Except he doesn’t realize that he’s on a flight of stairs, and then begins to spiral uncontrollably down the steps and crash into the stone hut below. Man down? 

Bonk! I can’t help but cackle my head off, tears coming to my eyes as I hear the confused yelling come from below. Poor Vec, but that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in my life. Which isn’t a lie, as I can’t remember anything funny. 

“Vec may not be cut out for being a warrior, but he is a nice companion.” Cael sits on the steps next to me, clutching a bottle in his right hand and steadying himself with his left. “You do hold your mead well, Sparrow.”

“Even you’re a bit drunk!” I chuckle, seeing the pinkish tinge on his cheeks. “Well now, am I the only responsible one here?”

“Responsible? You’ve drank three times more than I.” He leans back onto the stairs, looking to the stars. “Rawa, you wouldn’t happen to know a potion recipe for hangovers, do you? I think we’ll need those healing skills in the morning.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I wink, watching Vec run up the stairs and faceplant as soon as he gets to us. 

“Ow!” He says. “I...I’m really tired...where’s a bed?”

“Not on the stairs?” I watch him settle on a step again, closing his eyes and snoring in moments.

“He’ll just fall down the stairs again…” Cael sighs. “Ah well.”

“Cael?”

“Yes, Rawa?”

“Thanks for saving my ass.” I say finally. Perhaps I am a bit drunk…

“You’re welcome.” He looks over to me. “Thanks for keeping Vec from eating everything at the feast.”

“No problem.”


	17. Skipped a Beat

“Rawa...brew faster…” Vec moans from beside my feet, doubled over on the stone floor of my brewing hut. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have drank so much…” I scold, mixing a bit more elves ear into my brew.

“I was trying to keep up with you!” He says painfully, looking up at me from the ground. “How are you okay!?”

“Because I can actually handle my mead.”

“Handle nothing, you’re a monster. A really mean monster.”

“A mea _ d _ monster.” I snort at my own pun, waiting for the liquid to finally drip out of the alembic. I collect a sufficient amount in a few bottles, handing one to Vec to drink. He downs it hastily, finally sighing in relief as his headache retreats. “Bring this one to Cael.”

“Cael didn’t look like he was hungover…” Vec pauses with the bottles, waiting for instruction.

“Go give it to him.” I grin, trying to hide my amusement. He masks his condition well, but I can recognize someone ill right away. “And take the other two to anyone who needs it. I’ll have another batch in a minute.”

“Okay.” He trots off, leaving me to my work. 

Canis root, elves ear...what else? I want these to be particularly strong, so I won’t add Juniper berries. I suppose spider eggs can be a replacement. I let that simmer as I work with my mortar and pestle, pausing as my hands wander along my shelves. Honeycomb, hawk feathers, beehive husk. At least this will taste sweet, but it’ll be a bit rough. Worth it in order to allow the user to be durable, yet quick.

“Thank you, Rawa.” Cael leans in the doorway, looking to my hands working diligently. “You knew?”

“I can tell if someone’s sick, Cael.” I turn towards him, smugly grinning back. “Don’t think putting on a brave face is going to trick someone like me.”

“Well, now I know better.” He laughs. “And now I have someone to heal me instead of putting up with pain.”

“Yup!” I hand him two bottles. “Juniper colored is another marksman potion. Orange is to give you skin like oak, yet still be quick on your feet. Suitable for the forsworn, considering this armor.”

“Skin like...oak?” He says curiously. 

“Figuratively. You’re not going to turn into a spriggan.” I snort at the thought. “Is there anyone still...sick?”

“No, it seems like we’re alright now.” He pauses. “Those potions are quite potent. I’d like to thank your potions master.”

“Self taught, Chieftain.” I giggle, immediately pausing. The sound of rapid drums and cries outside make me freeze in my skin. Cael doesn’t have that luxury, he hurls his bow off of his back and draws an arrow, downing both of the potions I just gave him.

“Good test for your brews.” He searches the area. “Vec! Get over here! Take Rawa and the others to the Shrine!”

“Yes!” Vec runs over to me, taking me by the hand and dragging me to where a few children mill about. It seems me and Vec are the only adult non-combatants. “Rawa…” He turns to me, looking to the children huddled at the base of the shrine. Each seem to know what’s going on, and although they try and put on a strong face, I can tell they’re scared.

“Yes?” I say, watching him draw a sword of his own.

“If the bandits do get to here, which I doubt they will because the warriors are strong, I need you to take the kids to Purewater Run and hide.” Like the kids, he too tries to put on a strong face but fails. “I’ll try and fend them off if...if they do.” He’s scared too.

“Vec, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure Cael can handle a few bandits himself…”

“There weren’t just a few. There were so many…” His voice shakes. “Rawa…”

“Calm down, Vec.” I let out a laugh despite the tense situation. I pat him on the back, looking to the kids. “You all believe in your parents, right?”

“Yes!” A small boy pipes out. “My mom will get them...get em good!”

“My dad’s going to kick their…” I cover her mouth with my hand hastily.

“Woah!” I step back, surprised by the little girl’s language. “Well, it still shows you have faith. We’ll wait.”

“Okay.” He nods, less frightened. But I’m a bit too prepared to eat my words soon; I can see fires breaking out near the tents and the cries don’t seem to be going in the forsworn’s favor…

What can I do? I can’t do anything. All I’m fit to do is sit here and lie to comfort some kids and a really big kid. I can see the bandits now; they’re fighting on the remnants of last night’s bonfire. And here we sit, a few hundred feet away. My eyes, although I don’t wish to see it, grab a sight of crimson on Cael, running horizontally on his arm. The camp is falling badly; the ashes drift this way as if to taunt me. Flames rise above the tents, engulfing anything in their destroying wake like a serpent. My stomach twists; did I bring this on? Are they here for me? Can I just run away with the kids, and let someone else fight for me? No. A coward dies many times before her death. Damn me to Oblivion if I’m going to let these people fight for me, while I sit here quaking like a baby.

My rage builds quickly once I hear the familiar sound of glass breaking; they’ve overturned the racks of mead. Now that’s just a waste! Anger eats away at me; this home I’ve just found is being turned to ash before me, and here I sit, on my fully capable two feet!

It suddenly breaks. A bandit snakes out from the stone huts, standing in front of the shrine in a mocking pilgrim's journey. He’s smudged with ashes and blood, but it’s not his own. Once he spots me and the children he puts on a serene grin that is falsely warm on the surface; it’s true intentions insidious. This man does not wish for gold or wealth, all he wishes is for desolation. He’s a lost cause for the race of men.

“There ye’all are.” He grins, looking past the kids. Is it the statue? Or is he looking at…? “Not half bad lookin, are ye? Why don’t you come here and be a good  _ wench _ ?”

That word again...wench. That stupid, oblivion-spawned word that burns up my insides like I’m on fire. You think me weak, like I’ll just submit to you? I’m not lower than you. I’m not below you, no more than your fellow man. 

“Rawa?” Vec says, his sword pointed down. He’s more concerned about the look on my face I wasn’t even aware I had. My face was scrunched up in a half scowl, half psychotic scream. Everything-why does this keep happening? What, am I cursed? I feel like this has happened before; my home being torn apart in search of me. Why?

 

W̘̉̊Ĥ̟̯̤̜̟ͭͣ́̀͝Y͆ͧ̒ͮ̄͂!͙̳͎̘̹̹̲ͩ̔?

 

“Vec, how about you take the kids. I’ve remembered a few things about myself.”

“What?” 

“ **FUS RO DAH!** ” My voice cracks down with the force of a being a hundred times larger than I, echoing into the heavens themselves and reverberating back down to Tamriel. Now I’m angry. 

The man spirals off, picked up by my shout and carried far through the camp. Poor sod got skewered on the many pikes the forsworn like to keep. Now then, to turn this battle around… I pull a few potions off my belt, inhaling a good amount of the ashen filled air before downing a few bottles. Marksman, light armor, and fortify stamina. Let’s go. I summon a bow into my hands, plucking the string testily like a strict violin player. This is my instrument; I can feel it in my being. I’m no civilian; no villager who knows peace. I’m a warrior, aren’t I?

Only one way to test that theory. The shout has already stunned a good part of me, why stop there? I leap off the shrine, plucking an arrow and letting it fly into the neck of a nearby bandit. I thread the point under his helmet and spaulder, sending his steel helmet spinning into the feet of Cael. He takes one look at me and beams proudly, giving a slow nod at my new self-discovery. 

Two more meet their maker at my hands; but in turn they allow three to find their way more than comfortably close to my neck. My bow disperses, and before I can even register what I want to do, I find two swords in my grasp as if by habit. Maybe it IS by habit!

I wield them backwards, stopping a greatsword with my own strength. I grunt under the force of the blow but recover quickly, ducking under the weight and slashing the bandit in the stomach. Hide armor will do you no good to stop me, friend. I turn to the other, catching a warhammer strong in the crook of my two crossed swords. 

“Hey, I’m not into scissoring!” I say hastily, throwing the warhammer away from me. Before he can hoist his weapon again, I plunge both my swords into his belly to the hilt. He groans with his last breath choked up in his throat, toppling over and taking my swords with him. Oh boy!

A sword strike comes dangerously close to my side, abruptly stopped as the man falls over silently. A forsworn arrow protrudes from his neck, obviously sent home by a very strong bow. I follow the trajectory and come to rest on the Chieftain,  _ my  _ Chieftain, with a smug grin on top of one of the stone huts. 

“Cael!” I make my way over to where he is, tossing a vial up to him. “Delivery!”

“Thank you, Sparrow. You’ve figured out who you are?”

“Who? No. What? Hell yes.” I accept his outstretched hand, letting me boost to the top of the stone huts. Forsworn dot the top of all of them, slowly taking the higher ground like sentinels. We’re winning, slowly, but we’re winning. 

“Your aim is flawless.” He comments, watching my arrows. 

“I think your bow could punch a hole in steel.” I watch his arrow plunge into an orc, shattering his armor with a godly crash. “Scratch that, your arrow  _ can  _ punch through steel.”

“My bow fights with the blessings bestowed to a chieftain. The old gods see to that.” He pauses. “I strike down with the lightning.”

“They are powerful beings.” I comment, nocking two arrows. “Hey Cael, watch this!” I let them fly, hitting two idiot bandits who decided to take the time to look around. They fall to the ground, intertwined with each other like forlorn lovers. 

“You’re skilled, Rawa.” He pauses, letting another arrow fly. “And very versatile.”

“Well, I got these scars from something. Let me tell you, I am absolutely sure I didn’t get these skills naturally.” I chuckle, switching my bow out for ball of Oblivion-bound mist. I summon a storm atronach, watching it fight alongside a forsworn Shaman.

“ **MUL QAH DIIV!** ” I shout, feeling my body steel itself like my wyvern brethren. So that’s what they meant when they said Dragonborn… “See ya Cael, I’m going to take advantage of this!” I summon my swords again, jumping back into the fray.

…

“It could be worse…” Vec picks along the damage, extinguishing the flames on a drying hide. The aftermath of the battle is little like how the camp was before; all that remain are the huts and the shrine. Everything else was burned to cinders by the bandits.

“Yeah, but it could also be much better.” A forsworn sighs. “They expected us to just give up, and hand over our people and treasure? Bah!”

“They’ve become more bold…” Cael says bitterly. “Now that Treyarch’s camp has been halved by a dragon, we no longer have the power to distribute our people…”

“All we can do is pick up the pieces and keep going.” A woman says, nursing a wound on her leg.

“Is anyone seriously wounded!?” I cry out, setting a man on a mat that survived. I bend his knees and check his pulse, sighing as I hear it beating steadily. Laboured, but steady. He’ll bleed out. “Vec! There’s a crate of red potions in the hut, go see if they survived!”

“Got it!” He runs off into the wreckage, trying to jump over a the fallen remnants of a tent and tripping onto his face. Dammit, Vec. 

“She’s...She’s barely breathing…” A man sets a girl, barely as old as me, down onto the straw beside my first patient. “Help my wife...please!”

“Does anyone know if any of the bandit’s stuff was poisoned!?” I cry out, looking to the girl’s struggling face.

“I...don’t think so, Sparrow. What can we do to help?”

“Bring me my lab and my ingredients, and any potions I have…” I pause. “Cael, the forsworn occasionally poison their blades, right? What do you use?”

“Nightshade and...bone meal...imp stool…” He pauses. “Namira’s Rot?”

“Grass pods, garlic...and…” I rack my brain, frantically trying to remember the last ingredient. “What is it...what is it…” I catch the sight of Vec, accidentally getting a splinter from my crate. Splinter...spiky...that’s it. “Thistle!”

My alembic is set in front of me, and I light the candle with a burst of fire. I set the ingredients in, pausing to watch them swirl into a purplish liquid. I turn to the man, my hands glowing with golden light as I press all the magic I can into the slice onto his thigh, focusing on knitting together flesh. I hear the whistling of my alembic call to me, and I slide a bottle under the spigot in haste, doing my best to not let any go to waste. This stuff is important. “Someone, give this man one of the potions with the red bottle.” I turn to the woman, sitting her up and leaning her on myself. “Drink this…” I instruct, watching her drink the potion. She sputters, coughing up a storm as her husband sits by, in a frozen shock.

“Is she...is she okay!?” He asks.

“It’s hot...and bitter.” The woman says finally. “But...it’s helping.”

“Drink the whole thing.” I take her arm in my hand, looking to the jagged wound that tore from her shoulder almost to her navel. “Someone took your sword and…”

“And slashed me with it, aye.” She says bitterly, looking to her husband. “You’re alright, Pran?”

“Worry about yourself.” He says softly. I can see a bloom of red on his kilt like a twisted flower. I hand him a vial, nodding for him to drink it. “Regeneration. Drink it.”

“But...there are others…” He argues, watching someone else be set down next to me. 

“Drink. I can’t give this to anyone hurt badly.” I shake it again, forcing him to take it from my hand. “Another?”

“Arrow wound...to the chest...I don’t know if…” The man who brought him over kneels next to him. “I think...I think he’s gone…”

“I’m willing to test that.” I say, biting my lip angrily. Stupid bandits! Stupid mercenaries! Taking from the innocent! The arrow protrudes from his ribs, and I can tell it’s struck bone. Oh Gods, do I know how to heal bone? Only one way to find out…

I gingerly pull the skin away from the wound, pulling the arrow out without causing further damage. I press my ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat or breath. It’s too weak for me to hear anywhere else. He’s alive, or at least I feel like he is…

I kneel above him, pressing both hands to his chest as I pump his chest down, sparking with magic and careful not to press on his sternum. I take a wad of cloth from a ruined tent and prop his neck up with it, opening up his air ways as I continue to press in intervals, mimicking a heartbeat. Come on…

It seems like days as I continue, trying to elicit a breath, a spark, anything from him. I see the man who brought him turn away, not willing to look-or show his own tears. Cael walks over to bring me off of him, but I refuse and slap his hand away angrily.

“He’s not going to die.” I say angrily, continuing again. “Dammit!”

“He’s dead, Rawa.” Vec says somberly.

The Gods must  _ really  _ hate Vec, because nothing he says is ever true. The forsworn’s chest compresses heavily without my help, filling with air and restarting his heart like a clock. His eyes snap open to me, looking around really confused.

“He’s alive!” The man who brought him runs over, slamming himself down next to his friend and bending over. “Tuvved!”

“You’re too loud.” The man says. “And since when am I alive?”

“Well don’t sound so angry about it!” Tuvved says.

“I’m not, more amazed than anything.” He lifts his head weakly, seeing my attending to his side. “Rawa!?”

“Hello.” I reply weakly. “And okay, Cael and Vec, you guys were technically right, he  _ was  _ dead. Was.” 

“You restarted his heart?” Vec says, leaning over the man. I swat him away, barking orders and backing away from him myself. “Give him so room! Anyone else with scratches and such, there are crates of red potions. Does anyone have anything serious?” I find no reply, exhaling thankfully. I sigh, finally standing up. It feels like forever since the battle; like I’ve been healing for days. I stumble out of the tents, setting myself down in the sunshine. I rock backwards, staring up into the sky with my eyes closed. Phew…

“You did good, Rawa.” Cael sits himself down next to me.

“I hope so. Any casualties?”

“A few. One we didn’t know about, but he’s back now thanks to our talented mage.” I laugh weakly, still focused on the sun on my skin. “There are not many of us, it is true, but we are good fighters too stubborn to die.”

“That’s good.”

“Rawa, if you weren’t here, I guarantee all three of those people would have perished.” Cael’s words cause me to open my eyes, meeting his own blue ones inches in front of me.  
“I’m glad I was here, then.” I feel his fingers wrap around the base of my neck, taking me by surprise. His lips press against mine, slowly melting my exhaustion as I sit there, arms wrapped around his back, pulling the two of us together. He’s gentle, as if he’s not sure what to do. I can get him back for teasing me…

I push into him, taking the dominant role from his hands. I nibble on his lip as if tempting him, before just taking his mouth myself, searching hungrily for his tongue. I tease him gently, slowly coaxing out his own anxiety and destroying it like he had done with mine. Now, we’re even.

“I’m glad you were here too.” He says, barely above a sigh.


	18. Two Foreigners

“Vec, I swear, if you pick any more glowing mushrooms that aren’t mature and put them in the basket anyway, I’m going to feed you to the falmer.”

“Do they eat people?” He asks nervously.

“Do you want to find out?”

“No.”

We are in some hole in the ground not too far from the village. This cave, although I’m pretty sure it has a labyrinth of falmer dwellings somewhere in it, is a pretty good source of glowing mushrooms, white caps, and bleeding crowns. The mushroom, not some weird crown oozing blood. We’ve been here for quite a while; our little expedition set out before the sun had risen and although I can’t see the glowing sky orb at the moment, I’d say it’s around mid-day. I still need hawk feathers and the like, so we’ll see how far we get here.

“Vec, what are you doing!?” He’s been holding the torch for me, but I hadn’t noticed how he was holding it. He extends his arm fully, as if scared of it.

“Trying not to set myself on fire with this torch.” He informs me. “It...has happened before.”

“Vec…” I sigh, shaking my head. I sweep one last glowing mushroom into my basket and stand up, brushing off my knees. 

Click, click, grind. The sound of scaly exoskeleton grinding against itself echoes down the cave, hitting both of us as if it was a solid wall.

“Rawa…!” Vec says, visibly shaken. I sigh, summoning my bow out of oblivion.

“Vec, can you ward yourself?”

“What’s a ward?”

“Fantastic. Go hide over there.” I point over to a boulder, partway up the cave. Knowing my luck, he’ll get kidnapped by a falmer when I’m done with this. He’s already been harassed by bears and chased by a fox, as well as pecked at by a chicken, so it wouldn’t surprise me. 

“Hiding commencing!”

“Great.” I roll my eyes, watching the unholy abomination of a scorpion spider thing snake out around the corner. I really, REALLY hate chaurus. So creepy, with their multifaceted legs and scorpion like tail, and the pincers that drip with venom as if they’re salivating when looking at you. A black exoskeleton that glints in the dim light from the mushrooms protects it from anything I wish to throw its way, and a fierce attitude and poison that can melt flesh make it a deadly hunter.

“Alright, you bastard.” I raise my bow, nocking a ghostly arrow and firing it at the pincers. It knocks my arrow aside mid flight, rearing its pincers angrily as if screaming. Fantastic!

Venom comes hurdling towards me, flying directly over my left shoulder. I feel the burning sensation even through my clothes, and I can’t help but be shaken. I have skills, sure, but for some reason I fear these things. Their eggs make good potion ingredients though.

“ _ YOL _ !”

“Go for its eyes!” Vec shouts advice from safety.

“Which one?” I yell back.

“...All of them!” 

“Vec, you just focus on being reeeeallly quiet, okay?”

“Will do!”

My arrow bounces off its chitin, angering it further. Not good. It swings its scaly neck forward, nipping my arm painfully and ripping a line of red down my forearm.  

I ditch my bow and switch to my sword, wedging it in its maw as best as I can manage. The Chaurus smells putrid; years of living in a dank cave has made the air around it nearly toxic to breathe in. The poison forms a cloud around its mouth, making me feel dizzy even as I’m a few feet away. 

Something must have gotten to me, because I clatter to the ground, eyes fluttering as I fight to stay awake. I can feel more poison rip down my sides as its pincers threaten to cleave my head in half. I have to move… 

Hot. Hotter than I can stand. I feel something grab my elbow and...haul me to my feet?

I open my eyes to see a flaming chaurus and Vec yanking me to my feet, panic in his eyes.

“Rawa, less dying, more running!” He tugs me along, pulling us both back to the entrance of the cave. 

“I had it handled!” I protest, still running behind him.

“That thing was going to give  _ you  _ a handle if we didn’t boot it!” We both crash into the sunlight, heaving heavy breaths that filled my lungs with sweet oxygen. Living is great.

“What the hell does ‘boot it’ mean?” I wheeze.

“For once, I set something other than me on fire by accident!” He says, pleased.

“Wait, you didn’t mean to light the chaurus on fire?” I roll over, peeling myself from the ground to give him a puzzled look.

“Yes! I did!”

“Vec.”

“It may have slipped out of my hand...on purpose, mind you...when I was coming to save you and the basket.”

“You have the basket?” I look to what’s sitting beside him. They’re mushed, and singed, but the sentiment is still there. “Thanks, Vec!”

“No problem!” He grins, lying back in the grass. “Ah, outside! I’ve missed you! Hello Mr. Dragonfly!” A blue dartwing lands on his nose, splaying its wings out to dry. “I will stay still so you may see the sun, friend!”

“Dartwings don’t speak man, Vec.” It’s still amusing to watch him. He’s a bit awkward and very slow on the mental side, but he’s still a decent person nonetheless. Animals and creatures of all types seem to like him, or at least he claims that as frostbite spiders try and eat his leg. Though it does seem true to an extent; he tends to the mounts and most animals seem to be calm in his presence and even playfully bully him. A chicken, scared of the world, takes to playfully pecking at his ankles; a fox, usually shy, chases the feathers on his belt. We’ve stumbled upon a pack of wolves who simply looked to us both, recognized his benign existence, and just walked away. Stray dogs, who would certainly bite me in a heartbeat walk up to him and lay down on his feet to ask for scratches. He’s quite an odd forsworn.

“Yes, but I still think we understand each other.” He lifts his finger horizontally, eyes crossed to focus on the dartwing on his nose. “Mr. Dragonfly, I need to get up, but you may travel with me!”

The dartwing lifts off and hovers before settling on his outstretched digit. Like a Disney Princess of the Insects, really. Wait, what’s Disney?

“Is your friend going to walk with us?” I get to my feet, collecting the basket under my arm. 

“I don’t think his legs are suited for walking. So he may sit on me, and I will do the walking for the two of us.” He smiles, looking to his newfound friend. His shaggy hair shifts from his eyes, displaying his tanned, beaming face to the world. “I will walk for him, and he will eat any mosquitos that try to eat me!”

“A partnership, huh?” Something about that triggers a neuron in my brain, sparking a failed remembrance of something or someone. What, or who was I thinking about? Dark, loyal, and warm at the same time? Whatever it was, it was by my side for some time. I had a pretty good connection with it, and held it above myself. Now what could that be?

Maybe it was my dog.

“Rawa, hurry up! There won’t be any food for us left!” Vec urges.

“Food is the only thing you get antsy about, isn’t it?” I laugh, patting him softly on the back as to not spook the dragonfly.

“That…” He pauses, sheepishly looking to the ground. “And you leaving.” He admits.

“...What? Well what the hell brought that on?”

“Rawa, I know it’s selfish, but I really hope you don’t remember who you are and immediately want to leave us.” He looks away from me, as if ashamed. “I mean, I know you want to know who you are, but I don’t want to lose Rawa.”

“Like I’d leave.” I scoff, pushing the hair out of my eyes. “I doubt I was doing anything of importance anyway. There’s no way I’d have some pressing reason to leave. It’s peaceful with you all; I’m not willing to give that up!”

“I’m glad.” He sighs, relieved. “The entire village needs you now; and I think Cael’s taken interest. Besides, I like being your companion! And learning all the alchemy stuff is cool too.”

“Well, you have become my assistant after all.” I close one eye, gazing at the sun. “A very useful assistant who can save me, to boot.”

“Sometimes, I mess up so bad it ends up being good!” He says proudly. “I wonder if there’s still sweet rolls left for lunch?”

“I don’t know, but there won’t be if I get to them first!” All of a sudden I break into a sprint towards home, the wind whipping at my hair. Freedom! “Gotta catch up if you want a sweetroll!”

“Wait! But I can’t run with Mr. Dragonfly! No!” He calls from behind me.

The wind, the sun, the clean air, and the promise of food at a home filled with family. This is bliss. I don’t know who I was before, but deep down I’m a bit grateful I’ve lost my memory. I feel like I’ve been released from something and can just live in pure ignorance, and I intend to make use of it. My adventures with Vec are far better than whatever it was I was doing before this; and Cael’s companionship is something I cling to. 

 

_ Although he is a bit of a failure of a warrior, he will be a better tether than any rope. _

 

…

“And we’re back!” I say at last, heading up to the long table and nestling myself between Cael and Vec. He actually beat me by power walking, as I soon became distracted by some nirnroots growing at a river we passed. 

“I see you made a friend, Vec.” Cael comments, looking over to the boy. 

“He does a good job at eating bugs!” Vec says, pleased. 

“Should we get the dartwing a jar?” I tease.

“No.” Vec glares. I flip my hands up in response to the sudden aggression, doing my best to show I was joking.

“Kidding, kidding!” I laugh, noticing how the dartwing now looks at me oddly with its crystalline eyes. “Just as long as it doesn’t fly into my mouth when I sleep, we’ll be okay.” I tilt back my bottle, downing the mead and setting it behind me as I finish it. 

“Rawa, I think your drinking habit borders on alcoholism.” Cael points out, keeping me from taking another bottle.

“Probably for someone normal.” I scoff. “It’d take much more than a few bottles to get me buzzed now.” I sigh regretfully.

“I suppose being immune to strong poisons has its benefits.” He observes, tilting his head back and gazing to the mid-afternoon sky. A few clouds lazily roll overhead like delicate muslin fabric, gregarious for now but threatening light rain later. 

“I am? What?” I look down to my stomach, as if that’s going to help. “Wait...Cael...How do you know?”

Well then. Vec all of a sudden becomes very interested in the sky, and the rest of the crowd who were previously chatting at the table freeze as if time has stopped. Cael shifts awkwardly, propping his head on his elbow as he ponders what to tell me. The truth, I’d hope.

\---------------

Cael

Do I lie to her? The powerful dragonborn, being fooled by my own words? Can I even bring myself to tell her something false? Though if I don’t; if I tell her the truth, will she leave? Perhaps stare into my soul with that frozen gaze of hers, wondering if my soul is worth taking? If I were to die, having it at her hands wouldn’t be so bad. 

I have to say something. She can’t know; suppressing her past is of the utmost importance if I wish for her to stay. Tell her about what she was doing before this, and she’ll skip away out of his grasp. Lie to her, and she’ll burn me away and return to the darkness; out of my grasp and back to the one who is only capable of hurting her.

The dark one...he never did say his name, but I know why he was traveling with her. Bounty papers, wedged between the leather in his pack. Even if he no longer wishes for it, that motivation still leers from the surface of his character. He was willing to sell Rowan out; to bring her to those who wish for her destruction, and yet he feels comfortable by her side? How long until he becomes angered, infuriated, confused-and goes through on the old plans?

I can’t lie to her, but he can tell her the truth. A very limited, very warped truth.

“You….did not fall off your horse, Rawa.” I pause. “You were shot by one of our brothers, and slipped asleep. Though it took you some time, so I had a pretty good idea that you were accustomed to potions.” It’s still a lie...but it’ll do. 

“Why did you tell me I fell?” She meets my gaze, and I feel the ice take hold of my thoughts. Of course one such as her can do this. Even I, a chief that I’ve thought can handle anything, cannot even meet her stare. Once she was first brought here she glared at me like this too, and it froze me to my very core. All I can do is blankly look back, idly blinking.

“We figured you would wish for revenge if we informed you where you acquired your injuries…” I look down to the table, feigning guilt.

“No, but the truth would have been nice.” Rawa gets up from the table, staring off into the distance past the rest of us, and walking away, without another word. “I need to mix the mushrooms with the ice wraith teeth before they dry up.” She excuses herself.

“That went well.” Fligg says from beside me. “No really, that could have gone much worse.”

“Right.” I sigh, looking up. “Well, I didn’t expect this to go easily.”

“I’ll just...use the restroom...” Vec gets up to follow her, but I set my hand on his shoulder and sit him back down. I’ll go after her myself.

“Let me go.” I stand up, adjusting the bow on my back. Where has my sparrow gone? There can only be so many places. Her tent? No; she’s not some upset little girl. The alchemy lab? Too obvious. She’s probably out in the hills somewhere, picking more ingredients and thinking as I’ve found her doing so many times before. Rawa...no.  _ Rowan  _ is smart, and no matter what words I says to her, there’s no way I can take away the distrust she holds. I can only try and prove to her I mean her no harm.

…

I was correct about the hills. The Old Gods must smile upon her; letting her sleep peacefully in their lands. Despite what the old chieftains say, I believe they prefer one such as her over themselves. I can see her bag on one of the small ledges, indicating she’s asleep under it. Sure enough, she’s softly snoozing under the grassy outcropping, her hand crossed under her head. 

Defenseless? Not in the slightest. Fire runes surround her sleeping form, protecting her even as she’s asleep. There’s nearly eight of them...it would appear Magnus has blessed her with an adept magic gift. 

Someone with less skill than I would find themselves up in a pillar of flames. For me, it’s little problem than to vault over the rune to in front of her.

Her eyes flicker open instantly, and a sword forms in her palm, pointed at my vitals. Sparrow is apparently a light sleeper.

“Oh, just you.” She sighs, settling back in. “Let me get those for you.” She releases her invisible tie to the runes, letting them fade into the ground and allowing me to safely use my feet.

“Just me.” I reply, sitting down next to her. “You’re a ways out.”

“It’s the only place I can nap without Vec trying to steal the food out of my pouch.” She explains, sitting up. Despite it being midday, she gives out a short yawn, rubbing her eyes and propping herself up by her arm as her eyes wander to me, void of displeasure to my relief.

“He’s an interesting boy, isn’t he?” I chuckle, remembering the teenage companion. He actually was a bit like her; alone and unique.

“He’s not from this village, is he?” Rowan asks, patting the ground next to her so I can sit.

“No…” I settle down next to her, crossing my legs under me so I can look at her while I speak. She’s older than me, that assumption of hers was correct. Twenty two years old, with more experience about the world I could only dream of. I know of my people and our ways; the rest is lost knowledge to me. Yet she, a young girl from Markarth, knows more about the entirety of Tamriel than I, a chief. 

I’ve seen her many times over the years. When she lived in Markarth I’d often see her walking along the plains, a sheepish looking man at her side. After a while he stopped coming, leaving Rowan to search for ingredients on her own, her gaze always flickering to the environment around her. She even saw me a few times, back when I wasn’t too good at concealing myself in the open plains. After a few years of that, she disappeared. At first I thought she had died, but one night when I decided to wander into Markarth under the guise of a traveller, I saw her yet again. Ragged, bloodied, and with a look so dour I felt my breath seize when she entered the city. She stalked past him without noticing; I could see her jaw clench and her gaze narrow at a building off in the distance. I was going to approach her, but the dark one she called Bishop wandered into the city before I conjured up the courage. So I went on with my business. The last time I saw her before the fateful day in the cave was her little...sojourn in Purewater run. She...with that man...pushing her like that…it made me angry for my own selfish desires, which is a first.

I’ve never been enchanted by a woman before. Due to my rank, I could choose from any woman I wished from the village, or even from the other forsworn settlements if I gave the word. Though I just haven't felt any sort of connection between me and the fairer sex...until her. It’s true she appears to be somewhat of a disappointment-that is, until you actually hold a conversation with her or watch her in battle. 

She’s not narcissistic, and prefers to quietly do her work as best as she can for no recognition. When he heard of the dragonborn, he expected a hero who would stand atop the corpse of a dragon and bellow at the world to test them. She, on the other hand, takes on the dragon and quietly slips away to catch more of her kin. No loud curses, no challenging others to fight her, not trying to use her status with the divines as a crutch in the mortal realm. She doesn’t try to play a God, or gain wealth and fortune off of her skills.

Like a sparrow. Small and plain, until you hear it sing. And once you’ve been entranced by it, once you only wish to listen to that bird forever, it slips away. I remember wandering in the forest when I was a boy, wondering where the source of the notes were coming from, only to see only the chestnut trees and viridian foliage around me. It took careful observation to finally see the russet colored birds twittering to each other on the branches, content with the way they are. And after that much searching, they seemed to fly away without me just as I had begun to appreciate them fully.

Rowan, the sparrow. It suits her nicely.

“Where is Vec from, then?” She finally asks, staring into the expansion of the rolling hills. An elk runs a ways off, pausing in the shade of a Juniper tree and staring to the expanse of bluish green dots among the green. After a brief pause of studying the elk wanders off again.

“You may not remember this, but I’m sure that before your memory loss you had heard of it. It had taken us many years, but after a long struggle, we finally overtook Markarth for ourselves again. Of course, the stories are not much like what the Silver-Bloods or the nobility of Tamriel speak of it... We did not burn houses or slaughter villagers, we just sat in our ancestral home and celebrated. Until the army came to displace us again. They are the ones who took to barbary, and Vec is one of the lone survivors of that crusade.” I sit, remembering the dark day my people lost their hope yet again. It felt hopeless after that, and not long after I found my people were so frustrated by the events they could have charged into Markarth themselves. It was like a child dangling food in front of an animal, only to yank it away; soon the animal becomes enraged and uncontrollable.

That event caused the cataclysmic fall of the Forsworn, bringing this age of violence and resentment. We no longer wished to take our home back; now it seemed Madanach and the other Chieftains wish to burn down the Reach with us in it, just to spite everyone who took it from us. They wanted the reach to belong to the forsworn in their generation, but they never anticipated that rushing would only push the goal further from our grasp.

“Your people do have it rough.” She leans backs, looking at the clouds roll overhead. “And through it all, you’re still a nice person, Cael.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just the only Chieftain who hasn’t lost their head to an old dream.” I sigh, thinking of the angry ring of briarhearts and elders who I deal with. Treyarch...hopefully that warrior I sent off will come back from his village with good news.

“Kind, and you also don’t give yourself enough credit, Cael.” She looks back to me, staring into my eyes with that piercing gaze she has. The daytime is warm, but I still feel a tinge of rushing coolness sweep over me with her stare as she reads me like a tome. It’s not unpleasant; the feeling is actually great. “You’re the reason the two of us are alive, aren’t you?” She says, cracking out the smile I’ve become mesmerized by. I’ve only caught glimpses of it over the past weeks, when she’s speaking to Vec about potions, when she wakes in the morning and she greets the sun, and that rare time at me, on the night of the feast. She never seemed to smile when she was with either men, two years ago or the recent months. It’s a rare thing, to see the corners of her mouth tilt up, her eyes scrunching a bit with it. 

“Rawa…” I feel my face switch to a warm tinge, threatening to make me look like some lovestruck teen. She  _ understands _ . No judging, or harsh words, or even half-baked advice. She’s absolutely beautiful; in each and every way. Humble, strong, forgiving, grateful...I can’t stand it. Rawa is so close to me, yet I feel the need to touch her…

...and I give in to that desire. I sweep her into my arms, falling backwards on accident with my urgency. She crashes into my chest with a small giggle, that smile still present on her face. 

“Well now.” She looks down to me. Only now do I realize her face is as red as the berries of the tree she’s named for. 

“Stay here forever, Rawa. I don’t know if I can stand not having you here.” I say, trying to control the emotion in my voice, which by now is nearly trembling. What did I do before she was here? I was so alone before. Alone in an entire village. My rank forbade me to get close to anyone in particular, and then she shows up. This breton, filled with raw unbridled power, as graceful as the goddess herself. 

“I can’t even remember where I was going. You think I’ll just wander away in the night, and leave you behind?” 

I raise myself up high enough to take her lips with mine. She just said she’d stay, but regardless I feel as if she’ll disappear any minute, back to the realm of whatever divine sent her. As if she senses my anxiety, she slowly calms me down, pushing back just as readily as me and with a slow rhythm, without fail. 

We pull away, and without a word she settles beside me, contouring my body and pillowing herself with her arm. 

“I’d say we have about an hour until Vec finds us.” She says with a grin. “Feeling sleepy?” 

“Sounds good.” I grin to myself, crossing my arms behind me and shutting my eyes, pleased to feel her heat pressed to me.


	19. Sparrowing no Expense

**The most bitter of Rangers**

Purewater run. Back here, yet again, with the stupid nirnroots. Karnwyr led him this far, but he doesn’t need to go any closer because Bishop knows where she is now. In the forsworn village, not three hundred yards from him. He’s going to scout it out after dark, and see if he can find any sign of his Ladyship. She can’t be hidden out of sight; that’s impossible for around here. So where could she be stashed…

Nightfall doesn’t come as quickly as he’d like. The sun dips lazily below the horizon, casting shadows that only reminded him how alone he really was. Karnwyr was off chasing the foxes and rabbits of the reach, leaving him here to brood on his revenge driven plan. Get near the village of savages, see if they have Rowan, try to get her out. 

He creeps up to the lower platform, searching amongst the scanty clothing for a set of dragon scale armor. Would she still be wearing it? Did they confiscate it from her? It wasn’t in her things. Okay, maybe he should look for blonde hair. He scans the tops of the heads all milling about, unaware of his presence behind a pair of boulders not fifteen feet away.

The guy from the cave, Cael, walks in his vision, making his blood boil. Just watching him descend the stairs, a grin on his face, made Bishop’s vision red tinted and distorted as his body shook with rage. Oh how much he wished he could plant and arrow in that smug face of his. Who is beside him?

He didn’t even recognize her at first. The Rowan he knew had been replaced by a forsworn that looked just like her. Her hair, usually pulled back in a sloppy braid or a ponytail now swung around her shoulder and was sitting on her collarbone neatly. She wore the usual forsworn dress of a hide half tunic and a loose skirt with shorts underneath, adorned with feathers and belts housing whatever sick gear they chose to carry. Her clothes weren’t armored like the others wore, she looked like one of the common forsworn and didn’t even carry a bow or dagger. What was she? If they converted her, wouldn’t she be used exclusively as a warrior? What was going on?

She wasn’t being bound and gagged as he had first pictured. She walked close to Cael’s side, another dopey looking man following behind and chipping into the conversation at intervals. That damned forsworn...an arm is hooked around Rowan’s waist as they walk, and of course she’s completely oblivious about it. Quit touching her! Even he can’t touch her like that! In her usual fashion, she’s too busy gabbing about potions to notice. After a few words she handed Cael a potion, letting him inspect it carefully before giving it a sniff. At her insistence he drinks it, looking around.

Bishop recognized the potion. It was for stealth; it gave the user the ability to see in the dark.

He was in full view. He hit the ground as fast as he could, fully aware the forsworn’s eyes had drifted towards his figure pressed against the rocks before. Gods damn it Rowan, you’re making this difficult…

Through the cracks in the boulder, he saw them part, lingering there for what seemed like minutes. Cael seemed like he was torn between leaving her and staying, but thank the gods for his rank, because he soon parts with her. Cael took his leave and went to the massive tent in the middle, the chieftain prick. Rowan’s tent was off to the side, seemingly put up just recently. Probably was. It’d be easy to sneak up to the side and grab her; that boy, barely old enough to be considered a man, sleeps in the tent beside her so hard he could be mistaken for a snoring troll.

A wave of relief washed over him as he sat and waited for the forsworn to settle into sleep; Rowan was okay. Rowan was alive and well. The two of them could leave together tonight. They could be halfway to Whiterun by the time that forsworn Chief even woke up.

So he waited, and waited, and waited more. After he finally heard the snoring of multiple forsworn he decided it was time to act. He slithered to her tent, hearing her sleeping peacefully not even a foot beside him. He peeks out into the middle, thankful the forsworn on watch aren’t over at the common area. He swings into Rowan’s tent, exhaling the breath he’s been holding as he sees her peacefully asleep on the pile of straw. Now to get her out of here…

She can’t scream, that’d immediately blow it. He has nothing to put her to sleep to carry her away, plus she’d probably shout him into Oblivion if he even dreamed of doing that. So he’ll have to wake her up, like so…

He covers her mouth, immediately getting a reaction out of Rowan as she snaps awake and begins to struggle, looking to Bishop with wide eyes. Now then…

…

“Hush, Rowan, it’s okay. Let’s get out of here before they wake up...” The man soothes, pulling me to my knees. Who is this guy!? He’s acting like he knows me, and there’s no blade to my throat, which calms me slightly. Somewhere deep down I knew I couldn’t hide for long; but is he friend or foe? 

A heavy night of drinking, and I can barely think straight. Everyone else is drunk off their asses; I can hear many snores erupting from different parts of the camp. Barely anyone made it down into the common area; most fell asleep at the grand table or around there. 

“Who are you?!” I blurt out. Why did I ask that!? He’ll totally lie…! Let’s see his face for myself...I summon a candlelight out of my palm, resting my eyes on his face. He’s speechless, wide-eyed, and searching for the right words to reply to me. I’m too busy trying to calm my racing heart...

He’s handsome, but in a rugged way. I couldn’t pin the title ‘pretty boy’ on him even if you paid me money. A scar ran vertically up the corner of his mouth, creating a gap in his stubble. His hair was messy and wild, sweeping out in front of him in jagged locks. His muscles were lean and sturdy, obviously created over trial rather than forced for looks. Did she know this man? Or was he trying to get at her, just as others were doing?

“What? Rowan...quit messing around. And turn off that light! You’ll wake everyone up!” He hisses, trying to pull me out of my tent. I sit adamantly, unsure whether or not to follow him. What do I do!? 

“No...I really don’t…” I pause, frozen solid by the look of pure shock written on his face. He stares at me with a dumbfounded look at first, that then changes to a look of confusion and pondering. 

“You don’t what?” He says finally.

“I don’t...remember you.” I try and form the right words. Is he trying to trick me? Did I know him? How can I be sure? I’m currently just a girl who’s lost her memory; I can’t run off with any guy who says they know me. Besides, my past no longer matters. “I don’t remember anything. Can you prove that you knew me?”

“You don’t remember me? It’s Bishop! Ah...Proof...ah…” He looks down to himself, settling on the pendant tucked into his armor. He brings it out in his palm, angling it so it shimmers in the light. It’s enchanted with a resist poison; the purplish green frosted tinge tells me that much. It houses a cut diamond, swept up and pressed against a caricature of a wolf. 

“How…?”

“You made this for me…” He pulls off his ring, putting it in my palm to inspect. “You made that for me too.”

“Were we married?” I scoff, turning it over. “I seemed to make you a lot of things.”

“They’ve saved me once or twice.” He admits, looking to my face. “Anything?”

“No…” I shake my head sadly. No dice. “I can remember a bit from a really long time ago… but not a thing from the past few years.”

“What can you remember?”

“Walking with a wagon from High Rock.”

“That’s when you came from Markarth.” He says adamantly, thinking. “That’s as far back as you can remember?”

“It’s all I have to go on. I’m slowly piecing together some really old things, like when I learned magic, but…”

“You really don’t remember my face?” He reaches out and cups my chin, tugging my face down to look at him. He looks...sad?

“I don’t...I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything.” I shake my head. “You said my name was Rowan?”

“Wait, what do they call you here!?” He says, almost raising his voice. At his mistake he puts it back to a whisper, cursing at himself softly. 

“Rawa.” I pause. “Wow, that’s...pretty close to my normal name.” My eyes drift to the rest of him as I squint in the bright light. He looks a bit… I don’t know, bandit-ish? Bounty Hunter? 

“They already know who you are, Rowan.” He pauses. “I don’t know what they want from you, but it’s bad. Don’t trust them-especially the blond one. He’s not who he seems. He’s lying to you-!”

“You say that, but...I don’t know if I can trust you eith-” Before I can even finish my sentence I’m pulled up to my feet and hauled away from the man, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and shoulders. 

“You…” Bishop growls. 

“Cael?” I look up at the man holding me tightly. He’s angry; infuriated, actually. I’ve never seen him get upset, let alone this mad.

“I believe I told you never to return, Dark One.” Cael says bitterly, still trying to keep his calm complexion. “And I’m sure I outlined the consequences of doing so.”

“I was never one for rules. Sorry kid.” Bishop looks to me, completely stunned by the two. Who is this guy!? I don’t understand! What’s going on!? “Come on, Princess. Time to go; get away from the savage and let’s get out of here!”

“She’s smart enough to not go with a  _ bounty hunter _ like you, Dark One.” Cael says, still keeping a firm grip on me. 

Bishop visibly winces, pausing.

I tense up immediately at the words. Bounty hunter!? I knew he looked like it...but why is he after me? What did I DO in my former life? No, you know what? I don’t even want to know. I was probably some mass murderer or something. I’m perfectly fine with taking the life of another, surely that’s a sign something’s wrong? Skyrim put a bounty on my head? That’s why I was rushing across these lands; someone was probably chasing me for this stupid bounty. It was compelling enough for this guy to try and kidnap me in the night, why wouldn’t they chase me a bit?

“Stop spouting shit, savage! Let her go!”

Savage!? He’s the savage! Between him and Cael, there’s no contest on who is the better 

man here. The bounty hunter, or my savior? That’s an easy choice. 

My twin swords light up in my hands, and I firmly grip the oblivion-bounded hilt. 

“Leave, or I’ll make you wish you never said a word.” I step forward from Cael’s grasp, ready to rip this man apart. “I swear to the Gods, if you say one more lie…”

“They’re brainwashing you, Rowan! I’m telling you, you’re wrong!” He growls, pulling back an arrow and aiming it precariously at Cael.

“What, so you’re not a bounty hunter?” I accuse. “You winced! I saw you! If you actually knew me, then how the hell did I end up in that damn cave anyway!?” 

He’s losing his temper as well; both of us are about to be at each other’s throats. Cael is still speechless behind me. He’s seething mad, as far as I can tell.

“You can’t fool her with your lies, Dark one.” Cael finally says, edging up to where I am. He has his own arrow drawn and aimed at Bishop.

So the square off continues.

“Cael, let me fight him.” I growl. “I remember something... I hate bounty hunters and 

mercenaries alike.” 

“Be careful, Sparrow. He will whisper lies to you.” Cael warns, leaving me to my own craft.

I hate this man.

A liar, a bounty hunter, and he hurls the word ‘savage’ like it’s an official title. I can’t stand him; I can’t stand him!

 

Ḭ̸ ̃ͤ̒ͥ͟c͕̘͎̝͉̑͜a̻̝̿͊͊̉n̗̖̮͖̼̦̠̒͑́'̫̻̣͈̩̼ͧ͑̐̄ͨͩ͌ͅtͭ ̛͉̺̭ͪ́̿̾s̡̹͙̥͇̰͍̎̆t̻̥a͎͍͔͙͈̫͙̍̈ņ̰̙̗͙̦̗ͨ͌̿̓̏̍̚d͍̠͉̳͎͉ͪͤͩ̌̿͗̐ h̭̗̤̀ĭ̞̺͇̞͞m̧̜̫̻̺͖̻̦̃!̜̹̩̰̜̥ͧ͛̾̋̃ͬ̌

 

“I’m telling you, Rowan, I’m not lying…” My gaze unnerves him, breaking into that exterior of his. He’s not a good man, that much is evident by my stare. “You’re making a mistake!”

“Am I?” I ask, whisking my blades behind me. “Am I really? You’ve never wanted to hurt me, kill me, sell me out?” I search into his face, searching for the reaction. There’s an interesting thing to be had, when you can see through the mask and see a person’s heart. It’s no special power; all one needs to do is pick up the subtle cues. 

Like a twitch of his eyes, and the sharp inhale he takes for a fraction of a second.

“Liar!” I bellow, planning my attack. I feel exhilarated, like this fight has been a long time coming. Perhaps it has been. Don’t get me wrong, I would never try to play a God. But some older part of me is saying if I could go back in time, severing my ties with this man early on would have been best.

I can rectify that right now. He’s questioning things, and is definitely fearful.

I rush forward, not waiting for his movements. 

“Rowan!” He yells in surprise as I connect with his bow. “Wake up, dammit!” He uses his bow to block me as he kicks out at my ankles. I twist out of it, using it as leverage to bring my swords down again. One connects with the tip of his elbow, drawing blood nicely and breaking his grip on his bow. I kick it uselessly out of his hands, letting it clatter to the ground. Now he’s unarmed.

“Rawa.” I correct.

“Rowan, I’m going to give you one last chance to drop this act, or I’m going to get mad.” He warns, drawing a knife from his belt. 

It’s sharp, and has been used thousands of times from the hilt. The poor handle has been gripped so often it has Bishop’s fingerprints outlined on the worn leather, marking the blade as eternally his. I’m going to have to be wary of it; although he has less reach than me, he’ll certainly be faster once I get close.

“I’d say you’re pretty mad already. You have to be a lunatic to come charging in here, bounty hunter.” Again, he winces at the word slightly. He’s making it too obvious!

“You asked for it…” He grits his teeth.

…

**Bishop**

 

That wench attacked me! I come all this way, with the intention of getting us out of this mess, and I get slashed!

It’s the blond one’s fault. Putting ideas into her head...probably some old magic spell to make Rowan lose her memory like some doll. But now look where it’s gotten me; in a faceoff with the dragonborn, in the heart of a forsworn village. I can’t fight in here; I’m a good brawler, but I got taken out by a few of them; an entire village is suicide.

Was Rowan always so...unsettling? Her gaze reads him so easily; she can even pick up on his fear. She attacks at the height of his worry, using that moment of hesitation to cut at me. Not only that, but she’s much better than I expected. The only time we’ve ever faced off with each other was, well, when I was trying to sleep with her. It didn’t go so well, and I blamed everything on my lack of interest. 

Of course, it wasn’t that. I was fully ready to make her mine, to keep her from straying away from my grasp. Give her a tether so she wouldn’t throw me away when it was convenient, to go chase after some companion dog or a scholar with an interest of teaching her. I’ve been going crazy these past months. In the first third, I couldn’t wait to stab her and be done with it. In the second, I wanted nothing but to bed her. And finally, with this final third-I’ve abandoned both ideas completely. I was bargaining with the Gods to just see her again.

Not like this. I didn’t want our reunion to be so violent. I expected to be the hero for once; the good guy who rescues the princess with ease. Instead, I’m facing down the ends of her swords.

And it makes me so unbelievably angry. 

I came here for Rowan. Rowan, not this fake forsworn copy of her. What did that bastard do with the woman he gave his heart to? Touching her so casually, something he didn’t dare to do until weeks after they met. 

She’s not entirely off the hook either. Someone as strong as her surely should have been able to break out, right? But that kind natured demeanor of hers has held her back, all this time. It really angers me. She’s kind to every damn person she meets without fail, and look where it gets her.

So should I fight? I can’t win, but perhaps I can knock some sense into her. I still have half of that invisibility potion, tucked away in his belt. Well, now he has a plan.

And hell, I may as well get some of his anger out.

But do I want to hurt her? I don’t know if I can. She may be a brainwashed Rowan, but my own Rowan in still buried deep down, watching. Perhaps that daedra has taken over, and the actual Rowan has warped herself. How can I bring myself to hurt her? I can’t; it’d mean severing the tie I worked so hard to establish.

I suppose it’s time to face the truth. I love her, don’t I?

Why else would I feel so empty seeing her like this?

There’s no way I can fight her.

My fingers grab the potion without thinking, bringing it to my lips in an instant. With it, I’m gone; returning to Purewater Run so I can think about what to do next.

…

**Rowan**

“He’s gone. Invisibility potion; but we still may be able to find him…” I’m still angry. Even if that guy’s gone, he still hadn’t suffered for the insults he threw at Cael. Just calling someone savage like that...

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to lose you to him…” Cael bows his head, letting out a long sigh. “Rowan...you do not need to fight my battles…”

“He came here looking for me. I think it’s my battle, Cael.” I let him sweep me into his arms, tucking my head into his shoulder. It’s nice and warm in his grasp, just to sit here and breathe in the faint smell of oak. He’s comforting, even if he doesn’t know it. The one constant I have in my life...

“Rawa, I know you may not want to but…” He pauses, biting his lip and bearing down on the crook of my shoulder. “Perhaps it would be best if you slept in my tent, with me.”

“Uh…” I part from the embrace, feeling my cheeks heat up like a flash fire. His blush as well, and we stare at each other for moments before we both avert our gaze awkwardly. “Okay…”

“Really? Ah... “ Cael pauses. “Um…well then…”

…

“Stupid forsworn, he’s all viciousness until he takes a sparrow to the knee. Now he’s trying to bed her.” He stopped in his tracks. “Gods I miss her; now  _ I’M  _ the one making puns now!”

Karnwyr slinks out of the darkness, meeting him at Purewater Run. Gradient and Ashes are asleep, laying in the grass with their heads tucked onto each other. His stuff lay by the stream, in the same place he and Rowan slept before this nightmare took place.

If he had done something different, would he be sleeping next to her again? How could this have happened? The one person he wanted to keep with him, to protect, had her sword aimed at him. And as if by a mirror, he had his own dagger ready to swing into her vitals. Why? What’s happened to them!? This nightmare, no, this damn forsworn trial, is tearing the two of them apart.

And he has no idea what to do.

Should he leave her behind? Act as if none of this happened? Find some other thing to occupy his life, move on?  
That’s a stupid question, there’s no way his ego would live after that. 

Karnwyr whines, butting his head into Bishop’s side longingly. He misses Rowan as well; no doubt about it. But what can he do? She’s lost her memory. She doesn’t remember him. And worse yet, she thinks he’s a bounty hunter. 

 

_ “When it comes to the occult, I can fight without thinking. But I’ve become such an awkward fighter when clashing with other humans. Bishop…Dragons are predictable. They shoot fire, slash their tails, and gnash their teeth. Humans are not. I need you around for them. Leave the dragon fighting to me; but I need you around for the more dangerous game.” _

 

Why in oblivion is he remembering that now? She said that to him at dragontooth crater. Though she’s plenty good at fighting humans herself. 

Dragons are predictable...humans are not. That’s very true. How could someone like him predict something like this? There’s no way he could have possibly known what would come out of what seemed like an easy trip.

In a sense, he’s failed that promise, hasn’t he? The first time a mere human has stood in their way, and here he is, wanting to quit. If the real Rowan was present, how could he explain his actions? He thought it was too hard, so he just decided to quit? Pathetic. That’s exactly what she’d say. 

There’s no way he can give up on her. That smile, her quirky attitude, and even her damn puns...he misses them all. He has to get her back.That bastard, who does Cael think he is, taking what’s Bishop’s? He worked hard to get her that far, and as soon as he gets so close, that blonde bitch comes in and sweeps her away, a firm hand on the small of her waist. 

Perhaps he is getting a bit possessive.

So what can he do now? He knows he has to get her back, but how? Cael is probably using her as some sort of warrior, he has to be. But it also seems like he has...a romantic persuasion when it comes to Bishop’s ladyship. He knew as soon as Rowan was away from him, some guy would take her away!

It pisses him off, really.

But how can he get her back? Surely if he gets her to remember, she’d come with him. But would Cael go for broke, and try to kill them both? But it’s his only shot. There’s no way he can drag Rowan away from the village without her being her old self again. She’s completely lost her memory; how can he help her recover it? He has no clue.

He should go to Markarth; do some research. That lady at the Hag’s Cure knows her. Perhaps she’d have some potion for her mind, or at the very least point him in the right direction.


	20. Two Paths Inter-climbed

Back in this accursed city again. Where everyone looks like they’ve bit the dust too hard, and the entire city reeks of blood secrets. Thonar, that bastard, is here as well. Should he swing by, kill him real quick? It’d put Rowan at ease. She was too soft to kill someone she didn’t immediately need to snuff out, but he wasn’t. He was content with hiding in her shadow, cleaning up those who needed it without her knowledge. Her job was the prophecies; his was to attend to the more dangerous game.

It felt nice to have a purpose, something definite he had to do. It made the world feel slightly less transient to him, or at the very least like he was anchored to something. And that something was Rowan. Being away from her still felt so odd; completely unknown to him. He’s alone, and without her by his side, the world seemed to lose any color or emotion. These past few weeks have been utter hell to him. The companionship Karnwyr offers no longer seemed enough to give him any solace.

The absence of her made him revert back to the bitter self he was before, walking amongst throngs of people but never feeling as if he belonged. It was such a shitty feeling; and now that he had learned what it felt like to be alive, it drilled into his heart and made him that much angrier. 

The Hag’s Cure...it had taken half an hour of wandering, but he’d found the damn place. Set into the walls of the city themselves, it was legitimately hiding behind a crevice out of sight. And all the places here look the damn same, so he’d completely missed the apothecary sign hanging above the door at first glance. God he hates this city. Rowan is probably the only good thing this place has ever produced. 

He walks into the Hag’s Cure, setting eyes on a woman with some serious face paint behind the counter. A young Breton works at the alchemy lab, muttering to herself. Looks like Rowan picked up some of her practices from these people.

“We’re out of Stallion’s potions!” The clerk screeches, her voice shrill and hoarse. “Stop asking!”

“Good to know, but trust me, I don’t need anything like that.” Bishop replies calmly, entering the shop and leaning onto the counter. “But I do need some help in a different sense. Do you remember a girl...Rowan? Breton, blonde, says she worked here?”

“Ah! Rowan! Such a shame they ran out of here, she was such a great assistant.” The woman with facepaint pauses. “I’m Bothela, I own this shop. Why do you ask about her? She’s no longer here, if you’re another one looking for the bounty.” 

Always back to the bounty. Those damn things are probably going to follow her forever, despite his best efforts. Maybe he will slip into the Silver-Blood household, and cause a bit of a scandal.

“No, I’m actually a friend of hers.” He looks around at the shop. “An old lady like you surely has to be a healer, right?”

“I can heal any ailment you have. But don’t think you’re getting a discount just cause you know ‘er, boy.”

“Fair enough.” Bishop pauses. He supposes there’s no harm in telling her, but at the same time, the last thing the city needs to know is that she’s lost her memory. “But I need your word that you can be discreet about something…”

“I already told you, we’re out of Stallion potions!” She shrieks again. “Gods, just give up if it’s that difficult!”

“Not that!” Bishop booms, smacking the counter with his fists. “Gods damn it, I’m not even thirty yet!”

“Then what is it!?” She yelps. Bishop knows the assistant is looking at him oddly now, but if it gets Rowan help, he can take the rumors.

“Rowan...has lost her memory. Can’t remember anything past coming to Markarth as a young girl. I need something to help her...and I have no background in the medicinal field, so…”

“You came to me. Smart boy, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Bothela leans onto the counter, looking into the ranger’s eyes. “The potion coaxes the body into sharpening something it already has...sight, adrenaline, you name it. However, it can’t fix something that isn’t there. If her memories are gone, they can’t come back unless they want to. Some scholars at the college have been trying to crack that one for a long time, boy. It’s hopeless.”

“You’re saying there’s no way to help her?” He heaves a sigh, slumping against the counter. “There has to be something, doesn’t there!?”

“I said you can’t get them back unless they want to. Doesn’t mean you can’t tempt ‘em out.” Bothela crosses her arms, huffing at the boy. “You gotta make her remember. Find something sentimental she’d recognize in a heartbeat. Something that she saw everyday, or never left home without, or something she did constantly.”

“Only thing she did constantly was alchemy.” Bishop sighs.

“She a silver smith, ain’t she? Show ‘er somethin she made!” Bothela scolds. “Gods boy, do I have to figure everything?”

“I already tried that! She made me a necklace and a ring, and nothing!” Bishop growls, fed up with this hopelessness. 

“Let me see ‘em.” Bothela insists, waiting for Bishop to fish out his necklace and twist off his ring.

“Come on lad, she’s made hundreds of these in her lifetime.” Bothela groans. “What’s something she’s made, that she’s spent days on? Or even a month? She ever made something like that for ye’?”

“No...not for me. But I know someone who has such a thing.” 

“Well, I suggest you go get it, boy.”

“Quit calling me boy.” Bishop snaps. 

“I call anyone who can’t figure out how to help themselves ‘boy’.” Bothela grins as he exits. “Good luck.”

Shitty woman, calling him boy. He got the information he needed, though. That stupid ring she made for Apolinus would wake her up. Now he just needs to find the stupid smith. Where would he be right now? 

The forge. So where would that be? Close to the mine? He can smell the earthy, pungent odor of coal burning from below him. It’d have to be down there, surely. He wanders his way down the steps, eventually hearing the strain of miners from below. Well, this is the right place, surely. He can see the forge on a bridge next to him, pumping away as black fumes billow out of the top. 

He walks across the bridge into the forge, looking around for the nord. His back is to him, and Bishop only now realizes the muscle mass Apolinus has on his body. Gods, he wonders if Rowan was ever just as bulky too? That’d be quite attractive. She has a fair bit of muscle on her now, but the obvious amount of cardio she has to do daily is probably an inhibitor.

As he walks in, Apolinus turns around, setting eyes on Bishop with a hot bar of silver. He drops it back into the smelter with a scowl, walking over to greet the ranger.

“And what do you want!?” He snarls, throwing down his apron. 

“Your engagement ring.” He says calmly.

“Why in hells would you want it? And why would I give it to you?” Apolinus walks up to him, knocking Bishop back with a forearm. “Get out of my forge.”

“Well, you’re certainly not going to marry our favorite young adventurer, and I need it for something.”

“You’re out of your damned mind.” Apolinus barks. “I’d never give it to you!”

“You don’t have it, do you?” Bishop grins, hitting the mark perfectly. “She told me you threw it off of you while chasing her out.”

“No! I didn’t, I still have the ring!” He says, flustered.

“Where is it? Can I see?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“So be it, I don’t care.”

“So...would the ring happen to be in the river, or would it be in a crevice somewhere?” Bishop looks down at the water running below them, roaring over the rocks. “Is that where you keep it?”

Apolinus sighs, putting his hammer down and sitting on a stool nearby. He rubs his face with his hands and looks up, meeting Bishop’s accusatory gaze. Well, the man definitely doesn’t have the ring, and whether or not he still feels guilty is up to him.

“I don’t know where it went...I searched for it, I really did. Even waded in that river for hours trying to find a glint of silver. Couldn’t find a trace of where that ring was… I was chasing after her up on the path on the west side of town, and it just kind of...bounced down here.” He motions to the mine area. “That was so long ago. There’s no way you’re going to find it! Why do you want it anyway!? Do you just want to take her away from me fully?”

“A little bit, yeah. The sooner she cuts away from you fully, the sooner I can move in. But that’s not my reason for coming here.” Bishop pauses. “Don’t tell anyone or it could be dangerous, but your little ex-fiance hit her head and lost her memory. I’m looking for things to spark it.”

“You think that’ll work to help her?” Apolinus scoffs. “She’s made thousands of pieces of jewelry in her time, friend. It’s not going to help.”

“Sure, thousands of pieces of jewelry. But only one she spent months on, making it over and over, and inlaying a gem in so precisely she has a scar from it slicing her palm.” Bishop crosses his arms, watching how Apolinus bristles at the news. He buries his face in his hands again, making muffled sounds before finally emerging and refusing to meet Bishop’s leering gaze.

“I…”

“You lost her. Screwed her over and showed her she didn’t need you for her happiness. Now quit whining and move on with your life.” Bishop condemns, walking away from the forge.

…

Damn; how is he supposed to find a ring in this? Besides, it’s been nearly a year. There’s no way he can find it, right? Someone either picked it up by now, or it’s been swept down the river from Markarth. 

He has to try. It’s the only way to spark Rowan’s memories. If it means getting her back to normal, he’d go to Oblivion and back with no complaint. So where to start… There’s a strong-looking Orc overseeing the smelting, supposedly the foreman. I can ask him; surely if anything was found, it’d pass through him.

What did the ring look like? Silver, obviously. But Rowan described it to him once. He should have asked that bastard Apolinus before he walked off, but it was for the sake of dramatic effect so he can’t go back now. She liked Bretonic patterns that looped on themselves, so it’d definitely have that. 

Silver, and something about the plains of Markarth. An emerald, then. With the same intricate knotwork she had on her necklace, probably.

Speaking of necklaces… The one she made for her still sits under his armor. Without even thinking, he pulls it out of his tunic, pressing it against his lips like she did at the forge. It was a good luck charm to him; not just because of its anti-poison enchantment, but the fact that something she made sits so close to him is both comforting and irritating simultaneously.

He wants the real Rowan, not just these dead thoughts of his.

“Are you in charge of…” Bishop looks to the mines. “Whatever sad excuse for a workplace this is?”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll bash your face in.” The orc scoffs. “Now go away- I have work to do.”

“Yeah...I actually kind of need some information, so if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions I have…” Bishop jingles a few coins in his pocket, signaling his intent.

“Fine. What do you want, milk drinker?” 

What is it with Orcs and that insult? Normally he’d toss out a threat or throw a punch, but he can’t do that here. Not when he needs something from this green-skinned boar. He grinds his nails into his palms, thinking of the correct words to ask. 

“Has there ever been a ring found down here-turned in by someone perhaps-that was incredibly intricate with a cut emerald? Had some Bretonic patterns on it?”

“Nope. Never found one.” The Orc replies quickly. “Now get out.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Bishop narrows his gaze, scratching his boots on the markarth rock. He’d beat this guy senseless if he needed to; and it may just come to that. For now, he doesn’t know if the Orc’s lying, so it’s not worth a confrontation with the Markarth guard. It’d be best not to get into trouble for the time being.

He turns to walk away from the smelters and check somewhere else, when he sees movement on his gaze that pulls his eyes in involuntarily. One of the men at the smelter is waving him over subtly; and averts his gaze as soon Bishop looks to him. Well, that’s a bit odd. 

He saunters his way over to the smelter, crinkling his nose at the smell of burning coal and melting slag. It’s sweltering hot this close to the fire; the smelter base emits a heat wave that threatens to make him break out into a sweat.

“You waved me over?” Bishop asks, looking to the man.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.” The man says, shoveling more coal into the exposed flames. “And Mulush will beat me if I quit working. Man...I can’t wait to get to back to the  **Warrens…** ”

Hello hints. Bishop’s plans for the evening just changed. 

“Well then, I’ll be on my way.” Bishop replies, flashing a look back to the Orc. So his name is Mulush, then. So where are the warrens, exactly? Certainly not among the houses on the middle spire, or along the walls near Understone Keep?

He’ll need that man’s help again. Not that he needs it, of course. But just to make the search easier.  Look at him, asking for help from others for this. Though this situation is more delicate than he’s willing to admit; Rowan is attached to him still by a thread. If it gets severed, he’ll lose her forever, to the clutches of that Forsworn Chieftain. 

And he doesn’t like the idea of giving anything to that kid.

Another hike up these damn stairs it is, then.

…

“Apolinus, I was going to leave you be for the sake of drama, but I need you to answer a few questions.” Bishop calls. “Also, I really hate this city.”

“So why don’t you leave!? The damn door is right down those steps, so why don’t you use it!?” He snaps from the forge, turning around with a red hot bare of steel. “Leave before I decide to throw you into my smelter.”

“First off, harsh. Second off, they’re pretty easy questions.” Bishop pauses. “Where are the Warrens, and that ring she forged for you...what’d it have on it?”

“Warrens are in the underbelly of the city, across from the mine.” He grunts. “And I don’t think you have a right to that ring, whoever the hell you are.”

“Ah, I’m Bishop.” He leans against the wall. “And I’d say you don’t have a right to that ring either.” 

“You know, I’m really getting tired of you coming in here and taunting me.” He sets the bar of steel aside, thankfully, before tearing off his gloves and scrunching them into fists. 

“Calm down.” Bishop sighs, rubbing his forehead. He doesn’t have time for this. “I’m too busy to fight.”

“Yeah!? Then don’t come back!” Apolinus growls.

“If you insist.” Bishop walks out, in search of the Warrens.

…

“This place smells like ass.” Bishop exhales immediately as he walks in. The Warrens is a pretty ratty place; most definitely some former dwarven storage room. He looks into the dim light, searching for the same man he saw today. This place degenerates once the sun goes down, and anything unlucky enough to stay here is greeted with a faint chill that would never go away. Of course, that means it’s a pretty good place to sleep if people are looking for you, you’re sick, or happen to be one of the poor bastards who work at the smelter.

“You.” The man comes out, not bothering to stand as he sits against the rocky side of the glorified cave. 

“Yep. Me.” Bishop walks over to stand in front of him, awkwardly shifting in the loose rock. “Who are you? Why’d you call me out?”

“Name’s Omluag. Obviously, I work at that God forsaken smelter.” He chugs heavily from an open bottle of mead sitting near his boot, continuing on without much of a pause. “Now, that ring you’re talking about? I think I know the one.”

“Really? You know something about where it is?” Bishop says, feeling the cloudy aura hanging around him lift slightly. There’s hope. “And what information do you have?”

“Yeah, but my information comes at a cost. You look like the type to know that well, right?” 

“Don’t make me beat it from you…” Bishop snarls, immediately feeling the tension increase.

“Hey, it’s nothing crazy.” Omluag flips up his hands, showing his palms to try and quell Bishop’s sudden flash of anger. He’s too tired to fight; a hard day of work at the smelter under the watch of that Orc drained him far beyond the point of being able to stand for too long, let alone brawl. “Something small. And I’d repay you with what I know.”

“How much?”

“I’m a proud nord. I don’t take money.” He pauses. “It’s that damn Orc, Mulush. He’s ruthless on us at the smelter. We get worked too hard, and beat too often. Talk to him, make him lessen his treatment of us, maybe punch him once or twice. He’s a big baby through it all, so it won’t take much.”

“That’s it? Just to talk to the overseer?” Bishop sighs, scratching his stubble. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” 

“That’s the spirit, friend. I promise it’s worth it.” 

After the sincere promise, Bishop wanders the streets of Markarth again. The light coming from the braziers is barely enough to illuminate the streets he walks on, casting flickering shadows that seem so foreign to him. Rowan grew up here, amongst this rotting earth and sickly moss. No wonder she’s so afraid of being tied down; a life in this city, never to venture outside the walls as a lowly housewife is one worse than death.

The Silver-Bloods...their control of the city seemed to rot it from the inside out. And as it seems, they’re the opposing force that keeps the Forsworn out. He’d heard about the incident with Markarth perhaps twenty five years ago. Ulfric, the very man Rowan stared down in Windhelm, retook the Reach from the forsworn. That would have been before she was even born, or just as she had been.

How old is she again? He’d never asked. At twenty six, there’s no way she could be older than him...right? Of course he is! Now back to the Silver Bloods. So she’s against them, so is she technically with the Forsworn? No way, surely? They’d kill her in a second if they realized she owned property in their ancestral home. Which, coincidentally, they took from the Dwarves. 

He reaches the Silver-Blood Inn quietly, propping open the doors and shoving himself inside before the warm air inside escapes. The chill air in Markarth is evident even this early in fall, furthering his hatred for this damn city.

“Four meads, no tankard…” He slaps some gold down. “And a room for the night.”

“Yessir.” The man takes the gold. “My wife will be right over with the mead. Here’s the room key; door on ya right, straight up the hall.” He slides a small key over to Bishop, nodding to an empty chair near the fire. 

There are no tables, only stools at the bar and a few spindly armchairs settled near the hearth. It’d have to do; he’d rather not share elbow space with the scraggly looking Bosmer muttering to himself.

He walks over and settles himself in, setting his bag down at the foot of his chair in his line of sight. Another man sits in the chair next to him, with face paint and a heavy broadsword leaning against the armrest. The man’s pack sits precariously behind him, just asking for it to be stolen. He nods politely, essentially the extent of his manners, and stares blankly into the fire while waiting for his booze.

“Hey, you.” The man says, catching Bishop’s attention. His gaze swings to the other chairs around the fire, which as it stands, are either empty or occupied by ghosts. 

“Well? What is it?” Bishop says, sighing and rubbing his forehead awkwardly. “I’m quite tired, so don’t think I’m going to agree to a drinking contest.” He accepts the mead brought to him, popping the cork on the first and downing half of it at once. He’ll need to get pretty drunk to deal with this guy.

“Nothing like that.” The man pauses, weighing options internally. “You...wouldn’t happen to know a girl named Rowan, would you?”

“Hm….” He pretends to think, throwing his head back. “Anything to spark my memory?”

“Average height, blonde, tinkers with stuff a lot? Silversmith?” He calls out hopefully.

“Maybe. What do you need from her?”

“She’s uh, a friend of mine. I have a few words I need to tell her.” He finally says, setting off every bullshit detector Bishop has. Even a cursory glance over the man’s things say he’s a mercenary, and the paper jutting out of the fold of his pack speaks of a different story entirely. Well, it would seem the Silver-Bloods can corrupt anyone. Perhaps Thonar hasn’t exactly given up on the girl. Or, maybe, it’s the entire family being bitter enough at the situation. A girl, making a fool of the most powerful family in the Reach? The bastard nobles in Skyrim already cling to their stupid honor as it is, the last thing they wish is for some other family to make a mockery of them. Well, they can continue sending the bandits, but it’ll have no effect. Bishop will see to that.

“Why did you ask me?”

“Well, uh, a while ago I thought I saw the two of you together in the city.” He says, trying to keep casual, as if discussing the weather. “I figured you were someone who, ah…”

“Who what?”

“You know…” Vorstag flaps his hand. Bishop remembers this man; he actually was her childhood friend. Or at least something close. What he wants with Rowan now is evident; she mentioned something about him falling on hard times, but she spoke so highly of him he doubted he’d be a threat. Perhaps the same illness the Silver-Bloods carry has begun to affect the citizens; the promise of coin would be enough to make this man sell out an old friend. The Silver Bloods must have amped up the reward and sent it to everyone they knew had a fraction of a chance to kill her for him to know about it.

What trash.

“No, I don’t know.” Bishop does his best to try and seem oblivious. Stupid girl… It seems like these days all he’s been finding has been more and more brooding blood stacking up against her. Not that she can help it; apparently by living her life as she wishes, she’s made a plethora of enemies. Being the Dragonborn is difficult.

“Someone who...collects...for some people?” He finally says. “I’ve heard whispers of her and some very shady people…I think she wanted revenge on Apolinus and you...well...”

Bishop couldn’t help but laugh. What, her? Want revenge on that idiot? Perhaps she would, but she definitely wouldn’t hire someone else to do it. Rowan would march in, look him square in the eye, and swing a punch before he even got the breath to say her name.

“Nope. I just traveled with her from Falkreath to here.” He says finally, pulling himself out of the chair. “Now then, I’m going to get some air.” He announces as he walks out of the dusty atmosphere and back into the streets of Markarth. He won’t wander far, but leaning against the threshold and drinking has already made him feel much better than inside.

A rock falls from the top of the door, grabbing his attention. He always knew that Markarth was crumbling.

…

“What am I doing again?”

“Stealing the Thalmor’s copy of the Markarth agenda.” Prel explains. Cael asked me to help him on whatever it is they’re doing in Markarth, and as of current I’m crouched on the city wall with Vec. “We wanna see if they plan on attacking us anytime soon.”

“And Vec plays into this...how?” 

“Well, if you’ll turn to him...” I turn around to see him emerge from the darkness into the light of Prel’s torch, illuminating his face. His shaggy brown hair has been cleaned and combed back to reveal his hazel oculars. But what was particularly interesting was his attire; the usual forsworn kilt had been scrapped, and replaced with the clothes of a noble. A smooth green tunic with tanned britches; a coinpurse at his hip and a dagger on his thigh. He carries a simple gold chain around his neck, along with some cheap looking circlet around his head. “You’ll see how much of a gentleman he looks like. I think he cleans up well.” 

“What is that for? Could one of us just sneak in, invisible, and take it?”

“Nope. Issue is, Ondolemar keeps it on him at all times. And I swear, that man never sleeps. We need a pickpocket for this one.” Prel looks me over, meeting my gaze and letting out a sigh. “You, out of all of us, have the most experience in that area. The forsworn aren’t thieves, we’re warriors. Clumsy warriors.”

“I’m not a thief either!” I protest, looking to Vec. “Why...isn’t there another copy?”

“No. The rest are fragmented pieces. Ondolemar’s log has blank pages where he fills in the agenda; Markarth’s version is a stack of dusty scrolls. They get a new one each month-it’d be useless to us. We could get attacked in a month and one day and never know.”

“And how does Vec looking like a noble factor into this?”

“He’s your distraction.” Prel says proudly. “I’m your lookout on this. Ondolemar likes to roam through that old dwarven museum they have occasionally, muttering to himself. However, guards roam freely through there, too, so Vec’s going to draw them away. If the city were to need extra guards, they’d pull the ones from there first.”

“And how is he going to do that? Cry, flail around a bit?” I snigger from the side, feeling Vec push my side roughly.

“No! I’ll say empty advice about the economy, and then talk about some investments I may or may not be going to make, and then frown when I hear a reply, even if it’s good. I’m going to complain a lot, and say some stuff about how the cities aren’t safe, and how the guards need to escort me back to the inn.” He says, putting his hands on his hips proudly. 

“Then, when a majority of the guards are gone, the ones from the museum will be either reduced or missing entirely since they’ll be shifted outside. You can pickpocket him while he’s in there looking at shiny things, and then bail over the balcony outside. Easy!” 

“Yeah, because you’re not doing it.” I roll my eyes. “What are you signaling?”

“When the guards leave, I’ll make an owl hoot four times.” Prel says smugly.

“Well, if that isn’t cliche, I don’t know what is.”

“I read it in a book, and I can make the noise. Don’t spoil my plan now.” He rolls his eyes. “Besides, that being said, I’m the only link you two will have to each other tonight. Are you sure not being in direct proximity won’t kill you both?”

“I think I may suddenly catch on fire.” Vec jokes.

“I may implode.” I shrug. 

“Shut up.” He snaps at our sarcasm, dismissing us. “Now then, Rowan, make your way to Understone Keep unseen. Vec, look really grumpy and march to the keep. I’ll meet you two at the right side pillar.

“Alright.” I agree. Vec nods, taking on his role of stoic noble quietly. He hops down from the wall, leaving me and Prel…

No, no Prel anymore. He’s run off too. Just me on a wall, then. I sneak around the ramparts, figuring I can cut through the spire and dash across to the keep. The guards seem to wander there less, presumably because if they outline the streets, anyone within the middle would have to pass through their path eventually. Good logic, bad practice.

I fumble out an invisibility potion out of my belt pouch, staring at the vial awkwardly. It’s my own, legally questionable concoction, and I’m not too sure what’ll happen. I’ve mixed an invisibility potion halfway comprised of nirnroot and vampire dust, adding in beehive husk until it absorbed the mixture, and then added in powdered mammoth tusk with some water and boiled the mixture down. Hopefully it won’t kill me.

The potion is disgusting, but that’s a given. I couldn’t add anything sweet without risking the effect. But it does seem like it’s working, and I haven’t died yet, so my hopes are still high for this experiment. The melting feeling in my head and freezing in my toes clash in the middle, flashing me into invisibility and changing my vision into a sepia tinted frame. Seeing in the dark and being invisible? I’d call it a success. 

I make my way until I’m out of sight from the pseudo-marketplace, and jump down onto the rocks below. With my impact I’m immediately in motion, springing across the bridge covering the small stream and latching onto the earthen wall. My avoidance was for naught, as I soon discover. I’ll need to climb over the door to the inn so I can reach the staircase on the spire, so for that I’ll need to pass in plain sight of the market. Damn these people and their late night shopping habits; they’ve created a wall of people that I need to get through. Well, I’m invisible anyway, so I may as well.

I boost onto the doorframe, slowly creeping across the edge as I cling to the spire awkwardly. A rock slips from one of my handholds, breaking on the frame and tumbling onto the ground below. A slight grunt catches my attention from one of the tenants loitering, but he doesn’t seem to question it any further, so I’ll take that with a quick memo and move on. I jump across to the stairwell, bouncing up the stairs past a guard who only marginally noticed the wind, and sit perched on top of the railing at the top. I can see the keep, along with Vec pacing in the front as if annoyed. It’s obviously a complete ploy; I still have little faith Vec can pull this off. 

Either way, if it’ll help the tribe, I’ll do it. I’m visible now, but thankfully the stealth aspect has stuck with me. I can see each crevice I can use to climb down to the front, and easily scale the wall without a second thought. Once the guards pass me by I hop across, ducking behind the pillars with Prel. 

“Well, that seemed highly unnecessary.” I comment, looking to him. “Why couldn’t we just go together?”

“I...may have wanted to recreate a scene from my book, sorry.” He admits. “Though the rest of this is all for a purpose, okay!”

“Keep your voice down.” I hush. “I’m going to hop over the wall and climb in through the balcony. Make sure you don’t forget the signal!” 

“I won’t forget something I created!” He huffs, looking to Vec. “You know the plan, right?”

“You’ve told me a million times! It even rings in my ears when I’m alone.”

“Well, ah…” I look to the wall, summoning twin swords. “I’m going to abuse my blades and reach the balcony. Good luck.”

“Be careful, Rawa. We don’t want to lose you. If you botch something, bail, and we’ll figure something out.”

“Will do, but it won’t come to that.” I grin. I was never a thief, and certainly never a pickpocket, but stealth is my forte when it comes to combat. I’m familiar with scaling walls to get out of reach from trolls and the like, and am fully comfortable with the state of my upper body.

Which, that’s nice and all, but these swords make bad picks. In the end, I let them dissolve at my belt, and I do this just as I normally would. Absolute bullshit. Boulder scrambling is quite fun though, once you get the hang of it. My nails dig into the soft earth, worming into the small handholds I can see in the light of my potion induced senses. 

The balcony, a large stone bridge connecting the laboratory to a tower, sits nestled perhaps thirty feet above the outcropping I’m currently on. Time for more climbing. 


	21. Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second of the sexual parts, so again, if you don't want to read it, skip the part in italics. Cheers!

My worn fingers finally reach the ridge, and I pull myself back up onto rocky civilization. Now then, I wonder if Vec’s doing okay? Should I just loiter around in plain sight? Probably not, but I want to be able to hear Prel. I can hear the echo from the top of the tower, surely? More scrabbling and I’m sitting on the dwarven awning, looking down at the door over the museum.

The darkness returns with the fading of my potion, leaving me once again in the shifting shadows I’ve come to despise. The boisterous lifestyle of life in the tribe has become addicting, with the companionship and good work fueling me like coal to a fire. I love my home, and I’d do anything to protect it. That includes going up against an entire city, and stealing a pretty important document. But it would be worth it.

The poor forsworn. I suppose being with them constantly I’m biased, but I can’t help but feel there’s an unspoken atrocity that’s happened to them. Cael told me about the massacre at Markarth, but something runs much deeper than that. The forsworn don’t wish for survival. They wish, above all, to stand atop their ancestral home, watching the plains of the Reach quietly as they have for hundreds of years. They may never attain it at this rate; the suicidal goal of the forsworn is unreachable here.

Where do I fit into all of this? I should help them as best as I can, this odd family I’ve been dealt. I’m something powerful, but I’m not sure what. Whether I was right or wrong in the eyes of the law are unknown to me, but regardless I walk a delicate high wire when choosing my actions. As I’ve discovered, I’m actually a very decent warrior who can crack the heavens with a few words. But who am I really?

Does that matter? I have a home, and a family. Cael and Vec have seen to that. I’m alright where I am, in this comfortable limbo of ignorance. Spending my days quietly, fighting the odd group of bandits and brewing potions.

But that man...he hasn’t left my head since he left that night. My heart seemed upset, but I can’t figure why. He was quite rude, and seemed like he was fighting something in him even when we were dueling. When I cut his flesh, my heart nearly tore, and something told me his did as well. It was like a heart attack, with enough force to make me lurch forward and pause, giving him the time to slip away. He was handsome, but his personality seemed vicious. Did I really know him? Cael called him a bounty hunter, but a small piece of me wanted to go with the man. Bishop was his name, wasn’t it? Our relationship must have been bizarre. I can’t imagine how we could have met, unless I really was a different person before my amnesia.

His eyes...the piercing gaze he gave me stunned me into silence before I could even say anything. The sincere anger on him when he saw Cael grab me was terrifying, like a beast that’s just been let off a collar. Bishop never acted rash, but the underlying urge to rend Cael to bits hung in the air like fog, threatening to suffocate. The gesture had made Cael on edge for over a week after that, insisting I stay within close range of him.

If anything, the acts of the bounty hunter drove us closer. The night I slept in his tent banished any awkwardness between us, and introduced a very new concept to me; romance. I hope Vec takes a bit of time to get the guards, because I’m certainly excited to remember how that night went.

…

_ “Sparrow, is it possible you’ve never…?” Cael spoke of such things so easily, but I could see him just as red as me under his face paint. How would I know? Well, I guess I do. My body is screaming I’ve never done anything in the realm of things he’s implying. _

_ “I guess not…” I look away, tucking my hair behind my ear, trying to avoid his gaze. My face blushes as I think about it, then about him...Gods, this new wave of perversion is tedious... _

_ “I only wish for you to be safe, Rawa…” Cael says, extinguishing one of the candles on the deer antler candelabra. “I’ll...I...I can sleep sitting up, I’ve done so many times…”  _

_ “No, I’d feel terrible kicking you out of your own bed…” I laugh, fumbling with my hands. I eventually just throw them down to my sides, stepping up and taking him by the hand. With a tug he’s to me, pressed against the bare skin my half tunic leaves exposed to the air. He’s burning hot, heating my chilled skin and yet making me shiver too.  _

_ Being so close, with the space between us only enough for me to tilt my chin up, dissolves any cowardly thoughts the two of us may have had before. He grins slightly as he sees me there, lingering in wonderment, yet still trying to guess where this is going. He grabs my hands in his own, massaging my palm as we linger for a moment. _

_ In a moment he’s closer to me than before, with our lips pressed against each other’s. With my approval, his hands wind themselves behind my head and drift to my hips, gently squeezing what he finds there. It only serves to spike something in me, craving to come out and play. I make some unholy sound while connected to him, encouraging him to explore further as I feel a desire in my core. _

_ He takes the offer, guiding us both to his bed. I land on the soft furs with a quiet thump, cushioning me as I open my eyes. I can’t look away; his blue eyes are captivating to me, like the glint of blue sky on a rainy day. They’re comforting and pure.  _

_ “Rawa…” He’s on top of me, supported by his hands with a knee planted in between my thighs. How do I feel with this? Ah, screw it, and me. His skin brushes against my exposed sex, making me want him more. It tingles and drags me down, forcing me to desire him as my thoughts only go to the man in front of me.  _

_ “Go ahead…” I bite my lip, surprised at my own feelings. I’m surprisingly calm, and not only that, something is urging me to yield. I’m just as interested in exploring him as he is me. _

_ “We chieftains choose a mate quite early on, and it’s usually before they take on the role… I almost chose at random.” He pauses his exploring to drink me in, his gaze softening. “Your arrival made me rethink that choice.” _

_ “I’m going to be making other women jealous? Interesting.” I giggle, letting him continue. He grins too, dipping low and catching the bottom of my tunic with his teeth. Which frees his hands to explore every inch of my curves, massaging my breasts and thumbing the soft bumps he finds there. He unhooks my skirt, discarding it on the ground beside the ground. His strong hands grab a hunk of my flesh down under my belt, gently circling my sex as he drags his fingertips back up. He returns to my top, playing with my nipples unrelentingly, planting a kiss along my collarbone that sends a shiver down my being. _

_ I can’t help but let out a quiet whimper at the foreign sensation, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach has gotten much stronger than before. He’s turned me on so easily I can’t help but blush, enjoying the play with my nipples. I’ve heard of how much pleasure they can give you, but the burning in my stomach and the fire in my lower regions threaten to spiral me into ecstasy. His soft tongue burns the feeling into my core as I shudder again, grabbing onto the back of his neck and back unwillingly as I’m threatened to go insane. _

_ Meanwhile, I’m dealing with my own captivation. Once I make eye contact with them, I run my hands over the muscles on his shoulders, reveling in the amount of scars he holds. Multiple arrow wounds spot his sides, and a particularly long scar that runs from his side to his upper thigh. I’ve always thought scars were beautiful, in a way. The silvery lines tell their own story, as if speaking your life for you. His has been laced with violence, and it shows on his very skin. Cael has not had an easy life. As a chieftain, I have no doubt that he’s had more than his fair share of battles and close duels, and yet here he is. Still standing, and still alive and well. It counts for something. _

_ “You have your own share of scars, Rawa.” He comments, running his fingers along one of the splits on my stomach, sending sparks through me as if I was nothing. Of course after he finishes, he quickly flicks his hand to my folds. His touch is electrifying as it drags on my skin, plastering a smirk on his face as he traces each of my scars, amused at how it makes me twist. Once I finally adjust, he takes to massaging my nipple softly while grazing my inner thigh, which amps up the sensation and sends me into a fit of shudders. _

_ He’s relentless, yet gentle. Just like before, as soon as I settle in, he ups the ante and does something else to shock me. A tongue lazily traces around my breast, and he settles to lightly flicking the tip after what seems like ages of torture. I grab the sheets and twist them in my fist, feeling such an intense tingling lust that needs to be sated.  _

_ “Ah...Cael…” I finally let out, unable to speak anymore. “I need you, Gods….” _

_ “Rawa, I…” _

_ All at once, we hear the cry of alarm. Cael and I blink at each other for a few seconds before we hear the footsteps of someone coming up to the tent. He reacts faster than I do, which doesn’t come to much of a surprise, and flips a fur onto me as covering as he yanks his kilt up in a flash. We’ve been interrupted, through and through. _

_ “Bandits!” Vec says, ripping open the flap on Cael’s tent. He spots Cael, then me, pauses, and slowly backs out and rejoins the scramble.  _

_ “Someone is messing with us…” I sigh, jumping up and reclaiming my tunic. “Dammit Vec!” _

_ “Agreed…” Cael grabs his bow from the nightstand. _

…

Four quick hoots snap me out of my daydream. It was over anyway, I guess, but it’s an unpleasant thing to be shaken back into reality so suddenly. The guards are gone, then. I drop down to the balcony quietly, using as much grace as I can to muffle my fall. I dash across the stone, flipping myself through the door and shutting it quietly. I’m in the laboratory, staring down a conglomerate of metal pipes that seem to stick out awkwardly at each bend. They hum with steam, masking my footsteps perfectly as I walk through the hall with wonder. Calcelmo has everything in here, from an arcane enchanter to replicas of dwarven automatons. I can see why Ondolemar would be fascinated, as the elves have a fascination for their scholarly predecessors. 

I continue on to the museum itself, careful not to activate the laceration traps set into the floor of the laboratory. If I were to be caught in that, I’d surely be sliced in half, and there’s no healing from that. Dwarven traps are ruthless; from impaling their foes to frying them with electricity, they have no mercy. How did I know that?

I’m just about to reach the door when I hear it open on its own, ushering in the Thalmor Justiciar himself. He grunts, looking around smugly before pacing through the halls, thinking. Perhaps he’s less fascinated by the Dwemer, and looking more for some quiet solace away from the keep. He’s deep in thought, ignoring everything along the walls and simply just striding through, content in his own mind. When he gets to the balcony, I can steal it and meet Vec and Prel in the front. It’ll be easier when I can bail directly out instead of racing through the halls like a lunatic. 

I still have one last invisibility potion left, and I roll it in my palm impatiently. He’s nearing the end, and I suppose he’ll walk out onto the balcony, walk over to the tower, and either go in or turn around. I’ll pick him once he gets to the tower. That way, once he realizes it’s gone, he’ll be in an enclosed space and will only look there, with any luck. He’ll realize he had it all across the balcony and mark that off his search, leaving me scot-free. 

He reaches the balcony, walking across in quick stride. I down the potion and sneak across the expanse, seeing the book sticking out of his jacket pocket. Shit-it’s on the inside! How am I supposed to get it when it’s in his inside pocket!?

Screw everything I just said, I’ll just need to speed by him and rip it off of him, then escape. He’ll blame whoever, but it most likely won’t fall to the Forsworn. He’ll blame a Talos worshipper, or some bitter nord. Once he reaches the end, I’ll cut open his coat, steal it from him, and shove him in the tower, giving me time to escape. It’ll work.

Fear takes hold of my stomach as I stare at him from the ramparts, waiting. It’ll work...it’ll work...at this point, I’m more convincing myself more than anything. I can do this-without killing him. I need the book, that’s it. 

I can see the subtle imprint under his glittering black robes, in full view. It’s in his inner right pocket, tucked near his hip. I can do this.

He reaches right where I need him to be, and I lurch into action. I grab the inner part of his coat, slicing it open and grabbing the book, wedging it between my belt on my back. Time to escape! I use my force and suddenly stop, bouncing on my heels backwards to flip over the balcony. Freedom!

He catches himself well, swinging around with an open palm. His height advantage over me lets him grab my neck with ease, earning a wheeze from me as my windpipe takes a sudden hit. Shit! Shit! I can’t break free, his grip is crushing my neck, sending my neurons into a frozen panic as I search for a solution. I can’t get free, there’s no way. He’s quiet, feeling the invisible thief writhe in his grasp with a benign smirk on his face. Gods! He’s psycho!

What do I do!? Stendarr, help me! Akatosh! Cael! Someone!

I feel my toes leave the ground as I’m hauled into the air. My brain is slowly fading through the lack of oxygen, leaving me in empty cluelessness that grips me harder than Ondolemar. He grabs an elven dagger from his belt in his left hand, swiping it across my cheek. I fade into the visible spectrum helplessly. I feel blood leak from the wound on my cheek, falling down my front like unholy tears. It burns. It hurts so much. He wasn’t just going to graze my cheek to dispel the potion, he actually wishes to mar my face. I can’t do anything but struggle endlessly-he was much faster and stronger than I could have imagined…!

“Glad you could join me in this world, sneak.” He condemns, giving me a quick shake that rattles my jaw painfully, sending my eyes going crossed. I grab his wrist, trying to relieve some of the pain and give myself a gulp of air, but it’s useless. I’m going to pass out in a matter of seconds. My vision ticks away uselessly, forming into a narrow tunnel and expanding out into a blurry nothingness I can’t make sense of. All I can comprehend is a greenish black smudge in front of me, and the entire world around that is gone. Nothing. I can no longer think. 

He drops me. Thank God he drops me…

I gulp in air as fast as I can, feeling my senses rush back after their abandonment. I cough, unable to even say something insulting as a boot pushes me back to the ground, grinding the heel. The best I can do like this is look up to him with one eye, setting my gaze on his own to at least try and appear defiant. Gods, please! 

“I’d have thrown you off by now, but you happen to look like a woman I’ve been searching for.” My reprieve is short lived as I’m hauled up again by my tunic, forcing me onto my toes, and he searches my face for something. “But she’d never be some lowly forsworn. I am the head of the Justiciars in Skyrim. I will not be done by some long lost race, riddled with an inferior religion.” 

“Screw off…” I struggle, trying to force his hands off of me. “Let go of me!”

“If you insist, you primitive scum.” He says, hauling me fully off the ground this time. Oh Gods-! My eyes widen as I settle my terrified gaze on his face, silently pleading as I can no longer find words to say, not that my throat would let me. My body tilts back, stopping my heart for a beat as I feel him let go of my tunic as it rips, giving me to nothing.

I scream as I feel my body be taken by gravity, plummeting me to the ground. I’m...seriously going to die, aren’t I? No God wanted to save me? They’re just going to throw me away!? Dammit! I’m going to die, and just be a splatter on the rocks below...completely unrecognizable. Maybe it’s a fitting end, maybe I deserve it, but I can’t help it. I let out a sob as I fall, feeling a pain I can’t control in my heart. I won’t be returning to that village. I’ll never see them again! Vec, Prel, Cael...I’m sorry, but it looks like I won’t be coming back…

Stendarr, please! Please, I’m begging you…! 


	22. Go Back to Reading and Quit Looking at These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep...another sexual part. This time, with 100% more Bishop!

Bishop wanders his way back into his room, roughly unlocking the door and shoving it hatefully behind him. He’s drunk. It’s pretty obvious to just about anyone with a pulse who lays eyes on him. He’ll regret it in the morning for sure, but this drunken numbness suits him to help ease his mind into a restful sleep. He hasn’t been able to get any sort of rest since he saw Rowan like that; all his mind can think about is the empty horse that rides beside him on the roads of the Reach.

This lonely city can burn for all he cares.

His eyes finally close as he lays on his bed, doing his best to empty his mind. Any stray thoughts could lead to another crash, and he’s just gotten a shred of hope in himself. Best he can do is roll over, shove his head on the crappy rock pillow, and hope he doesn’t freeze to death on the cold platter that this inn calls a bed.

…

He hears a door open, shredding his hope for dipping into sleep. Bishop snarls in frustration, grabbing his knife from his pillow and rolling out of bed, only to find his knife pointed at Rowan.

His Rowan. Rowan in her full dragon gear, her hair tied back for battle, not show. His Rowan with mischievous eyes that wanders all over him, relaxing him into a mesmerizing stupor. The Rowan that knows how to mix a potion strong enough to kill a god, and can heal the deity once he falls ill. The Dragonborn, Rowan.

Gods...she was more beautiful than he remembered.

“That’s one hell of a greeting, Bishop…” She says with a smirk. “How have you been?”

“You...you remember…” He says, sitting down before he topples over. “Rowan…”

“Yep. Took me long enough, right?” She laughs, sitting beside him. “I had another fall, and it canceled the first.”

“No more Rawa?”

“No more Rawa. Only Rowan.” She pauses. “I remember everything, Bishop. Let’s keep going from where we left off...and let’s not speak of...well, the past few weeks. That...what happened with the forsworn..."

“You were scared and confused, I know.” He reaches over, pulling her to him. Her cheek seems so soft on his shoulder as she leans into him, probably exhausted from the whole ordeal. They both were. “We’ll spend the night here, and leave in the morning. We can work out the rest then. For now, I’m just glad you’ve come back.” He picks her up, moving her between him and the wall. She’s lighter than he thought; living amongst the savages must have been taxing on her muscles. No matter; everything can be fixed later. She’s safe and with him, and if the Gods think they can take her from him again, they have another thing coming. 

“Well, if the theme of my month has been ‘forsworn’, yours has definitely been ‘forlorn’. You look like you haven’t slept well in weeks.” She cradles Bishop’s cheek in her hand, turning his gaze to her own. “What have you been doing, then? Without me, you’ve probably been fooling around with prettier girls.”

“Yeah, tons.” He snorts. “Been trying to get you back like mad, woman. You owe me more than one bottle of Black Briar.”

“I’ll be sure to pay you back.” She chuckles. “Bishop…”

“Yes?” He turns to her, seeing her gaze meet his. 

“I’m sorry...you know, for the thing at the village. I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up.” He growls, reaching under her arm so he could push her to him. It’s been nearly a month, but he still remembers every inch of her. Her hands wind themselves in his hair, tugging her closer to him by habit. Her desire burns out on him, taking the lead and sending his mind spinning again. She’s much more fired up about this; the month apart has tore at her just as much as it did on he. “You aren’t to blame. You did what you could.”

“I know...but…”

“Forget about that Chieftain. We’ll be long gone in the morning. Nothing but a bad memory.”

“My mind is only on one man, Ranger.” She pauses. “What, did you seriously expect me to just drop everything I had for you?”

“My only fear is that blonde haired boy would whisk you away, out of my reach. You’re mine, Ladyship. If some other man thinks that...well, I can’t promise he’ll walk away once I find him.” He initiates a short kiss, trailing down Rowan’s neck and planting them along her collarbone. She gasps at the contact, gripping Bishop’s hair as she does her best to keep in control, squeezing her eyes shut. “Besides, I still need to pay you back for Purewater Run…” He breathes against her skin, smelling the light scent of Juniper that seemed so empty without her.

“I’d have to be out of my senses to push you away, Bishop…” She breathes, straddling his waist nonchalantly. She keeps her gaze planted on Bishop’s face, watching with divine pleasure as he grunts slightly at the new heat on his groin. She rubs herself against him, slowly torturing his sanity with great interest. His eyes glaze slightly as she lingers, watching him bite his lip to keep himself in check. He grunts again, trying to keep himself still with the new sensations.

“Ladyship, if you stay there, I’m going to start thinking this isn’t going to end us with us sleeping tonight…” 

“Oh?” She says as if it’s an afterthought. Is she really just messing around? He takes her mouth again, slowly winding his fingers in her hair, brushing them away from her eyes. She’s cold; the chill outside must have gotten to her. Well, only one way to fix that...

Her fingers find their way to the front of his chest, and she clings to his tunic for dear life. That is, until they part, and she shakily takes off his tunic before he can even register what’s happening. He opens his mouth to try and say something, but all he’s met with is a hushing finger and a soft gaze. Rowan pushes him down gently, giving out a small smirk at the shock on his face.

“Rowan...you’re...ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Ranger. The question is...are you?” 

“If I ever say no to that question, I’m either delusional or dead.” He growls, untying the back string on Rowan’s tunic. The neckline falls slowly, letting him tug it off and toss it to the foot of the bed. “Though I never expected you to be a top. I’m not sure I approve…” Bishop grins. “But I’ll allow it.” 

“I’m not!” She blushes her signature red, going to cover her face. Bishop pats her hand back down to her side, stunning her slightly.

“Let me see your face, Princess.” 

“Bishop, I…”

“You’re beautiful, Ladyship.” 

“Am I now? You don’t think different?” She laughs. “I seem to remember quite a few occurrences when…”

“Lies.” He scoffs, reaching up from his place on the bed to run a hand up Rowan’s hip, earning himself a shiver from her. He smirks slightly, running a second hand over her stomach, settling it on a breast as he cups it lightly, pulling himself to a sitting position. “That bashful expression suits you, Ladyship.”

“Oh shut up…” She quips, rubbing herself even further up Bishop in retaliation. She earns herself a lustful moan that he tries to keep from escaping, making her grin with her newfound position of power. He bites his lip, looking up to her with one eye that can barely stay open. “Bishop, I haven’t even taken my pants off.” 

“Time to change that!” He says quickly. “And while I’m at it…” He spins Rowan into his grasp, delving a hand into her britches. She gasps in surprise, feeling Bishop’s fingers find and play with her clit, circling it slowly. Her lack of experience leaves her open to this sort of thing, handing the reigns to Bishop to toy with her body. He’s gotten the green light; her slow burning pleasure is up to him. He frees his hand from her breast and uses it to yank down her pants, exposing her fully to him. Using the action of displacing Rowan, he kicks off his own coverings, revealing them both just as they were under the waterfall.

“Bishop…” She starts, but Bishop wasn’t about to let her speak freely. Her calling his name is enough to get him itching for more. He leans her onto the bed itself, flipping up on top of her with a lupine grin sweeping across his countenance. He’s been waiting months for this...longer than he could ever fathom waiting for something. He’s not going to blow his chance so easily. He’ll drive her crazy, make her beg for something she knows nothing of; get revenge for the seemingly hundreds of times she’s driven him into want and never followed up.

Her breasts seem to be a good target. She’s sensitive there it seems; leaving him open to a world of possibilities. He runs his hands over her inner thighs, parting her legs with one of his legs to keep it open to his play. He runs his hands from her hips to her nipples, tweaking them gently to get a reaction. Rowan can barely contain herself; she gasps and shivers at his every touch, trying to will herself to keep her sanity. He thumbs them harder, rubbing himself on her swollen clit teasingly, sensitizing her body. Her eyes roll back slightly as she closes them in lust, wrenching her head to the side as she grabs onto his back to steady herself. 

“What, are you close already, Princess?” He asks teasingly, dragging his hands across her skin; the callouses and scars sending sensations into her spine. He grabs her hips, giving himself leverage to lean down to her sex, smugly grinning. He sighs, intentionally trying to torture slowly as he circles her opening with his tongue, making sure to “accidentally” slip a bit towards the center once she becomes too accustomed with it. He won’t let her climax here; he wants her first to happen while on him. But this play is too intoxicating...

“Bishop...Gods…” She winces as he slips in playfully, enjoying the strained look in her eyes. “Please...I…”

“You what?” He grins, continuing. He caresses her inner thigh, sliding it to her hip and gripping her. She curls her toes, stretching her head back as she grasps the side of the bed.

“I...Gods, Bishop, I want you.” She says calmly, swallowing hard. A little too calm for Bishop...he spikes his tongue, flicking it across her clit suddenly. “Gah!”

“That’s better.” He says, pulling her down the bed to match with his hips. “Ready, Princess?”

“Shut up...I’ve been ready for a while. The forsworn incident only delayed it…” She mumbles.

“Wrong answer…” He warns, teasing himself on her sex. “Perhaps I’ll just have to fuck that memory out of you.”

“You...ah…” She moans as he lines up. He can see her brace, expecting an impact she can never prepare for. He’s waited much too long for this; he pauses to revel in the scene before him. Rowan, splayed and abashed, lays before him waiting. Sex is much sweeter with the owner of his heart. 

He slides in slowly, grunting as he feels her around him. She exhales her bated breath, writhing under the newfound pressure and gripping the sides of the bed with all her strength. As much as he wants to have no mercy, he’ll take this slow. It’s the first time he’s ever cared for mutual pleasure, which seems odd for him. But still, looking down at what lays before him; she’s his. Only his. 

“Are you okay?” He calls softly, still trying to keep control of himself. Something leers at him under the surface, trying to get him to bear down on her; to mark her as his in both her mind and flesh. Gentleness? That wasn’t ever close to being one of Bishop’s traits. However, this is Rowan. He couldn’t forgive himself for hurting her. It stayed his hand at the forsworn village, and it’ll stay him here.

“Yes...Bishop, you can move…” She calls out weakly. He pushes fully in, leaning forward over her. A deep kiss serves as a distraction, glad she pushes back just as readily as before. She isn’t regretting this… that’s good. That’s great. Fantastic. She loves him, just as he loves her. 

She’s squeezing him too tight for what he can even consider comfortable. Just like a warrior, she adjusts quickly, breathing out a sigh as the pain subsides. He moves more, slowly, pulling out as he still watches her face. She’s picturesque; her hair out of its messy braid and streaming out from her face in disordered locks, and her blue eyes lock with his, slightly glazed over. He grips down on her hips, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Bishop? Smiling? What is this?” She says, breaking the awkward tension. Well, he’ll show her. He thrusts back hard, teasing her as the quick sensation echoes up her spine. He lingers in her fully before repeating, the grin still on his face.

“I’ll tell you what it is…” He bends down to kiss her, feeling her wrap a hand around his neck and another grip onto his back. She passionately bites his lower lip in imitation of his tendency to do so, and lets out a slight laugh as Bishop attacks her out of indignation, thrusting hard and grinding his hips to show her who’s the top at the moment. She yelps shortly, about to say something until she meets the sight of Bishop’s sniggering face. “It’s the best moment of my damned life, that’s what.”

“Well then, Ranger…” She asks, biting her lip shyly. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Keep biting your lip like that, and...well…” Before she can respond or even question what he was saying, Bishop sweeps a hand under her back and pulls her so she’s sitting in his lap, fully on his cock. “This…Gods, Ladyship.” He squeezes his eyes, feeling Rowan let out a giggle.

When he opens them, she’s still blushing, but it’s retreated to just her cheeks as she slowly regains her balance after the sudden movement. She plants her feet on the bed, getting help from Bishop to bounce slightly as she watches his face, cupping his face in her slender hands.

“Now  **I** have  **you** !” She says gleefully, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. She slowly rotates her hips, watching how Bishop’s face contorts as he struggles with himself. “Come on, Bishop. Just give in. It’s okay.” 

“You’re not in charge, Ladyship…” He manages to get out, falling backwards onto the bed. She collides into his chest, letting him lock her to him with an arm as he leans up, whispering next to her ear, “ _ I am. Now I think it’s time I broke you in… Who am I _ ?”

“Bishop…” She replies weakly, gripping on to him with her eyes squeezed shut. Hearing his name come from her mouth- the proof that she knows who he is- washes him with relief and gives him an even fiercer edge to try and satiate with her. 

He barely gave her time to gasp before he’s pushing into her again, repeatedly slamming against her walls without mercy. She grabs fists of his flesh as she fights her own sanity, moaning from the onslaught of feeling from her sex. That only pushed him further on, pulling her to him in a dangerous hug as he feels his climax threaten.

“Ah….” She says, half fear, half absolute pleasure in her voice. Hers comes first, ripping through her as her entire mind bursts like a multicolored firework. She bucks against him violently, sending him into his own climax. He inhales sharply, feeling his core overheat as he grips her tighter, waiting for the intense release…

...that knocks him straight out of his dream.

He lays alone in his room at the inn, now with quite a mess on his hands…


	23. Is this what all the Fus is about?

W͓̠̲̰a̩̫̹͕̝k̲̦e͕͓̝̥ ̵̼̙͓̜̤̰̼u̵͇̙̮̪̠p̟̹̬̖̯.͖̙̰̥̯̜̼.̨̠͓̩͍͎̺.̙̘̦̹̫

 

“No. Five more minutes.”

 

Ǹ̟̪͚͉o͔t̹̲͜ ̠̦̳̯y̥͈̝ou̝̰̤͢r҉̖̟͉̘ c̡̭͔̝̦̟̜ͅh̯̖o̝i̧͕̰̻͇̠͔̝c̫͔̪̩̱̀e̦̟̭̘,̻̀ D̛̤r͉a̗̝͈̳͍̥̫g͇͖͔̪̲̹o̦̩̫̰͎n̺͖̦͈͉ͅb̜̮̪͈̣͓̝o̰͎͉͔̭r̥̞̰n͇̖͎̰.͞ ̝̱̗̦Ǹ̯̬̣̮͚ͅo͍̝̲͍͍̦w̴̮ ̕w̷̱͚̻͎̠̼͔a͖̙̭̱͈͠ḳ̞e u̧p̼͔̭̟.̧̬͇̼̼̰̟

 

“Fuck you, talking voice. I’m dead, that means I get to sleep forever.” 

 

Y͉̱̳͈͔̪ou̺̳͔ ̧͔a̹r̼̫̳e̜͈͍͝n'͖͉̳̞t̨ ̮̪̖̩͇̞͢d̠̯͕̞̻e͏a̛̦̘͎d̮͜.̹͍

 

“Yes I am. Shut up. Let me sleep.”

 

I̛̭̗͖͚̱͇̱ ҉̻h͖̥̞͞ͅa̖̖̪̰d̝͘ ̻͇t̼̺̻o͓̻ ̛̻̗̱͉͙dr͚̹̺̭͈á̜̩͍̫g̟̩͍̜̣̩̖ ̳̻͟y͢où͎̯̟͕̱r̪̰̳͡ ҉̱̫̲̯̻͍s͚̞̠̟̀o̸̺̞̥u͓̤̣̳̼͖̼l̴͖̼ b͇ͅa̹͈̰̹̩͈c̢k͉̘̤ ͙͚́f̤r̨͔̞̺̪o͓̦̝͕̱̱͉m̪̮̞͎ ͘O̟̖̣̥b̞͙l̤̦̻͇̣̫ḭ͍͞ṿ̣̘̩͡i̥̫̗̖͎̭̳o͇̣̗̗͚̬̰n.̬̼͖͚̣͉̹́ ̡̯Y̜̘̳͓͈o̲̘̯̯u͚͔̦̥ ̹ͅa̗͢r̤̠e̷̪̦n̷'̹͈̘͙͓t̳͉͈̖̻̦̲ ̨͓͍̻̱̩d͖̗ͅḛ̜͇̼͚͇̘a̰̺̻d̢̰.҉͈͇̟̳

 

“That’s cool. Wait, you did? For me? Why would you do that? I thought you abandoned me!” I feel a darkness shift into my core, gazing at me with a onyx stare. How did he get in here? Normally he’d have to wait patiently at the sidelines, saying snide comments from the boundaries.

“While you decided to have your forsworn sojourn, I figured it was time for some personal endeavors. I was having dinner with Sheogorath in Pelagius's mind when I felt your soul in distress. I come back and you're plummeting to your death. You should be thanking me; a pathetic death like that doesn't suit you.”

“Why are you talking normally? How are you fully in my head now? Can I know your name now?”

“Coincidentally, this is going to answer your prior answer as well.” The daedra pauses, and I feel the sickle shaped smile ebb onto its face, shivering my soul to the core. Am I really in my body? All around me is nothing but empty, grey space. “You think I would just let my perfect vessel die on me? Of course not. And now my own life force is intertwined in your soul. No Stendarr weakling is going to pry you from me, my dear. And my name is P̝͔i̩̟o̸͔̥̬t̞h͚̗̤̰. Memorize it well, Breton.”

“You know, I still can’t understand why you want to be here. I would think Oblivion would be much better.”

“I fought to get to the realm of mortal men and plant my stronghold. You men of the dirt are disgusting creatures...but even with your perversions, this land bears much more opportunities for one such as I to gain power. Sweet Rowan...I only leave you in control because I wished to be entertained. Your body and soul are mine.”

“No they aren’t.”

“Yes, they are. But you continue to steal them from me…” He sighs. “Us daedra have these tedious rules when it comes to humans. You may be mine, but you still have to willingly give me your body if I’m to permanently take it from you. It’s quite pathetic.”

I didn’t have time to flick him off before he disappears into the void of her brain, leaving me with a pit for a stomach and an aching so bad it threatens to crack my conscience. My eyes barely function as I stare up at the rising sun, watching the fuzzy ball of light wash the world in even smudgier light. 

Where am I? My head rolls to the side painfully, letting me look up the mountain to the balcony. I was correct in becoming a red smudge; in the light of day, I’m sure from up that high, this pool of blood simply looks like a reddish-brown dot. I sit up, feeling a sharp pain twinge from near my scapula; threatening to lop my shoulders off. Gods! What is that? I twist around as best as I can, finding the offending source of pain. A sliver of granite has embedded itself in my flesh, cutting cleanly through my tunic. I wrench my fingers around it and pry it out of my back, wincing as I feel it tumble out onto the exposed rock face. My half tunic falls to my lap, tattered beyond use. It can’t even function as a handkerchief at this point, let alone an article of clothing.

“Cael…Vec…” I mutter under my breath, helping me focus through the white, piercing pain that holds every inch of my being. The daedra chuckles from under the surface, watching me gleefully. He would keep me alive, but he was not nice. He wouldn’t do it for free; he wished to watch my struggle and failure. “Vec...Cael…” I attempt to stand, summoning a sword with my spindly supply of magic to lean on. “Vec...please...find me…” I stumble back onto the rock sadly, looking to my broken legs. My entire torso was exposed to the sunshine, probably offending an entire village. I don’t care; it feels good. It also gives me a pretty good view of the ruby blossoms that splattered my chest from my broken ribs. My right arm is fine; only a broken finger, but my left hand has gone numb. The glass shards in my thigh that pin to my flesh through my waist pouch pair nicely with the feeling of empty channels in my body that indicate I’m out of magic. I sigh mournfully, looking to the state my body is in. I peel rocks out of my neck and arms, trying to think of what to do. Shout? Neither screaming nor my voice could help me. It’d attract the guards or a wild animal. 

I was barely outside city walls, on one of the boulders lining the mountain Understone Keep was in, but I feel miles from civilization. Stendarr...Mara...Kynareth...please help… fix me, please… I don’t care what you take...my arm, my eye...just give me legs so I can walk back to them. I finally had a home; how cruel is it to gift someone that, and rip it away from them? I’ll give you anything, just please…

“The Gods would never help you.” Pioth laughs evilly, manifesting himself in the shadows of one of the rocks. He’s a mage dremora, with tattered black robes and rune face paint that end at his horns, giving his smug face more dimension as he laughs at me. “Why worry? You won’t die. Even if you stay here forever; even if you starve yourself, or go insane…”

“Shut up, Pioth.” I sit, brushing rock shards out of my legs.

“Give me your body, Rowan. You’ve done it before.” He says, tempting me with a calm, empathetic tone. “You’ll lose all your senses, and let me take care of everything…” 

“And never regain them.” I scoff, watching a vulture land nearby. “Oh, great.” I roll my eyes. 

“Will you become their meal for eternity, or will you let me take over? I promise I’ll give you some time in the reigns every once in awhile, and I’ll take good care of your soul…”

“Quiet.” I silence him, taking my right hand and picking up my left in it. I have a bit of magic; only enough for a few seconds. I press what I have into my wrist and elbow, slowly shaping my hand into a fist. Almost, but… I curl my fingers only slightly, letting my right hand mimic and pick up my left. I slowly bend my thumbs to create the mouthpiece, and…

I hope this works.

I press my lips to the knuckles of my thumbs, blowing across the gap I created. A hoot screeches across the rocks, spooking the vulture into a hasty retreat and echoing into Markarth. Three more and I’m getting ideas, while Pioth is losing ground.

“He won’t come for you! Those idiots have no clue…” 

“Very well then…” With the absolute last of my magic I summon another sword, standing up on broken legs. “I’ll go meet them.” I say, gritting my teeth as the piercing pain eats at my bones. As it stands- or doesn’t- my right leg is the most fractured and can’t hold my weight. Left is alright...at least as alright as a broken leg can be. I can bear some weight on it, letting me hobble between it and my sword. 

My effort accidentally pops the scab on my face, sending blood to mingle with the sweat on my cheek. Sure, I was pulled back from Oblivion. But this is as close as it’s come to ever appearing on Nirn. 

Walking across this cliff feels like walking on broken legs. Because it is. But it’s the best I can do; this sword may not even hold. I put half as much magic into its creation than I would have liked, meaning it could shatter at any moment and send me tottering to the ground. A blackbird screeches as I near too close to its nest, spreading its wings as a threat. 

“I can’t hurt you.” I reply simply, seemingly calming it with my monotone voice.

“Did you know blackbirds eat berries of the Rowan tree as a delicacy?” Pioth transforms into a blackbird to match his story, hopping along the rocks next to me. “If you keep going, maybe when you keel over, he’ll mistake you for an actual Rowan and eat your remains.” He hops in front of me, tilting his head as only an avian can, giving me a cockeye stare. “Rowan, I don’t like seeing you in this much pain...I know what I said, but I can only help you if you let me.”

“Go back to Oblivion.” I spit, worming my sword tip into a crevice in the rock. “I’ll get out of here. Without your help.”

“Don’t put on the tough girl attitude. You’re in so much pain it’s hard to think, aren’t you? Those bodies you mud crawlers carry with you are so fragile…” He flies up to a spindly branch of a Juniper tree, perching where he can watch me. “Give it to me...I’ll take care of everything...and you can go back to sleeping. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No, it’s not.” I mutter.

“You don’t want to just leave everything behind; to get a feeling of numbness forever? Leave your duties behind...just becoming one with something that will let you stay in peace…” It lulls. “Or would you rather struggle through this pain, only to fall short and rot into the earth around you? Become a faceless skeleton, damned to Oblivion as a failed Dragonborn?”

“Pioth.” I finally make it to the edge of the grass, pausing.

“Yes, child?”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Of course…” He purrs. 

“My binding cloth was cut. It’s pretty breezy up here…” I look down to my loose breasts, feeling my face try to heat up and fail due to the blood loss. Fantastic. “If I’m going to die and you’re going to take me over, let me at least keep a bit of dignity, please. And as for giving my body to you...it’ll probably happen. Be patient, and let me at least feel as if I struggled properly like a human so I won’t have to live with that regret scarring my soul.”

“You are very smart, Rowan…” He disappears for a moment, coming back with a few yards of beige colored cloth in his beak. “Now hold still…” He reverts to his human form, steadying me with his hand so he can reach around my body. With burning hot fingers he wraps the cloth around my torso, securing me back into something more dignified.

“Thank you, Pioth.”

“What?”

“Thank you.” I pause. “You know, what you say when someone does something nice?” 

“We don’t have such a phrase.”

“That’s too bad.” I look to the three glowing dots on the horizon, surely screaming something I can’t hear. “Do you have ‘you lost’ in your language?”

Pioth looks around in a panicked frenzy, sensing what I see. He disappears with a quick glance to me, dissolving back into the abyss. Serves him right. Don’t underestimate me or any other human; we’re surprising creatures. I walked half a mile on two broken legs just to spite a dremora, and I’ll do it again.

I hope that’s them coming up to me...if it isn’t, I’m screwed. Let’s go for broke and make sure, then. I wave frantically with my right hand, sword nearly swinging out of my palm. One waves back just as enthusiastically, jumping up and down like a lunatic. That’d be Vec. To the right of him is a skinny, short figure. That’s Prel. And on the left...is a tall figure with a bow slung across his back. Cael.

I feel another drop of blood ooze from my face, stinging my eye painfully. And as if that drop was the only one keeping me conscious, I keel over into lovely, numb, senselessness.

...

“Good morning Sir…” A Thalmor guard grumbles, yawning on cue as Ondolemar steps out of his study. “Why the dour look?”

“I’ve just been reminded of a sniveling annoyance we’ve run into in the past.” He pauses. “I must stop wandering around here in this dead, filthy city. I’m the head Thalmor Justiciar in all of Skyrim- I have no need to keep these brainless nords in line. Call Elenwen. I’ll look for the dragonborn and bring her to justice.”

“If I may ask, honorable Justiciar...why the sudden change in heart?” The guard bites her lip, thinking it over. The dragonborn of Skyrim; the one who made a fool of the Dominion and stole important documents, only to get away scot-free. Not only did she disappear without a trace, she even whisked the traitorous Malbourn away in time before they could snatch him and torture him like the rat he was. 

“I was suddenly reminded of her last night...it was so abrupt it made my blood boil. She shan’t be allowed to waltz around, reminding everyone of our stained reputation.” Ondolemar stops, inspecting a nearby table in front of his rooms. “And has anyone seen my schedule book? I could have sworn I had it with me this morning.”

...

**Bishop**

Right...so where is that orc again? He has to go ‘talk’ to the poor foreman to get more information on Rowan’s ring. He’s never been one for a fist fight, but at this point, being detained by the Markarth guard is not something he needs. Keep it clean, get her back. And he’s even doing some good, to boot. 

Physically, he’s nowhere close to ready for a fight. Last night was...embarrassing, and he’s quite glad no one saw. He’s completely not against replaying the events in his mind, though. In retrospect, he should have guessed it was a dream. Rowan having full dragon armor, and then suddenly being in her blue tunic? Also, there’s no way she would go from having a dagger pointed at her to on top of him so quickly. But a man can dream.

Now then. What to do now. Beat up the orc, find the ring, get the girl. Seems easy enough. Though as he’s come to learn, it may be a bit more difficult than expected. Anything with Rowan involved is always more complicated than meets the eye; it’s simply in her nature. And that nature of hers extends out into anything she’s barely mentioned in.

He reaches the smelters without even realizing, the smell of sulfur, burning coal, and melted slag hitting him before the sight. Mulush stands on the raised platform, yelling threats to one of the smelter workers who wasn’t shoveling fast enough. Well, Omluag was correct; he is a cruel master. But that doesn’t mean Bishop really cares. It’s their fault for working for him. However, he needs to do this for Rowan.

“Hey, pigface.” He calls, catching Mulush’s attention. The orc sneers, turning to Bishop with his tusks in full view. 

“What do you want?” He snarls, bowing his head threateningly. 

“You to shut up. Why don’t you lessen up on the workers? You’re working them half to death.”

“So be it. I got deadlines to meet. If you want me to let up, why don’t you go help em? I’ll be happy when I meet my goal.” He turns away from Bishop, scowling at Omluag down at the smelter. Well… The orc is playing tough.

“How about this?” Bishop swings, catching the orc on the jaw. He staggers backwards, otherwise unfazed by what Bishop deemed to be his heaviest slug. This orc is going to be difficult to take down in a fistfight. He has no need to kill green skinned-pig, so he’ll settle this with his fists, not dagger. Though its presence at his hip taunts him ever slowly, calling out to him like a siren. 

He won’t give in; he can’t. The worst part about this is how his actions now affect both of them. Granted, so do Rowan’s, but he’s the one more likely to get the two of them pinned for murder. The last thing they need are petty bounties tagging the two of them around; he’d hope to let the bad blood lie for now instead of forcing it to fester and rot. Blood and sweat got them this far, but he won’t generate more on purpose. As soon as he gets the ladyship back, they’re laying low for quite a while. And from said hiding place, hopefully he can close a bit of that gap between them that tortures him in his dreams. Fight her to sleep with her? When he thinks about it more and more, it seems so absurd.

A graze to the face sends his mind spinning again, trashing his hippocampus for making him remember things in the middle of a fight. This orc stands in his way. And that isn’t particularly pleasing to Bishop.

“Bastard…!” The orc finishes his punch, leaving him wide open. Bishop ducks under his next swing, rocking on his heels slightly, and with everything he has he wills his feet to keep balance. Once that imminent threat has gone, Bishop springs up on the balls of his feet, aiming for the triangle between the orc’s jaw and chin as he lands a left hook, staggering the orc further back. He counterbalances his own swing with a right jab, swinging forward and ever closer to his target.

The orc moves to kick him, but Bishop’s peripheral vision catches it far too soon. Years of hunting and stalking more dangerous prey has left him with a quick-witted algorithm to counter wolf pounces; a palm strike to the chest. Before he can even register that the offending object is a orsimer leg and not a wolf, he’s slammed his palm midway up the poor man’s thigh, feeling him pound through muscle to the bone. Mulush reels back, yelping in surprise at the sudden sensation, and swings out a panicked punch that connects just barely with the bridge of Bishop’s nose, bouncing off his face awkwardly and sending the orc off balance and toppling to the ground. 

Bishop pins him to the ground with a boot, stamping on his sternum, challenging the orc to test him. The poor orsimer lays there reeling, clutching at his leg as he feels the numbness fades away, leaving his leg in shock. It wasn’t broken; but the sudden crack to the muscles would mean it’d do more than lock up on him. 

“Well? Or do I break your ribs?”

“Alright, alright! I give! Let me up!” He cries. “I’ll ease up!”

“Right.” Bishop gives him one last test stamp before moving his boot, letting Mulush shakily get to his knees. “You’re going to change?”

“I will, I will!” He sighs, getting to his knees. “Look-I don’t like fighting…”

“Then keep it light,  _ friend _ .” He warns, walking off. He glances to Omluag, nodding slightly to make him aware, and walks off before Mulush has a chance to call the guards.

…

“That was great!” Omluag grips at his hair as he walks in. “He was so stunned he barely said a word the rest of the day! That was the best day at work I’ve had in my life!” He said. “Gods bless your kind heart!”

“Not kind, and I also don’t need the Gods blessing me, thanks.” Bishop leans on the wall. “Talk.”

“You’re a ‘Straight to the point’ kind of man, aren’t ya?” He pauses, shifting himself on the rock. “Alright fine. That ring you were talking about...well I found it.” At his words Bishop growls, gripping his thumb as he feels his hands form into a fist. 

“And?”

“And...I don’t have it anymore.” He sees the amount of rage Bishop builds, and hastily adds, “Mulush took it. Took it to his house, and that’s where I thought it was. But it ain’t anymore, because someone stole it from him. Serves ‘im right, but your ring is with some sneak thief now.”

“Where is the thieve’s guild located?” Bishop crosses his arms. “They’d know about a ring like that switching hands.”

“No thieves guild in Markarth, friend.” Omluag chuckles. “You’d have better luck wandering around yelling for it than to track down someone connected to the guild. By Oblivion, the only person would probably be one of the Silver-Bloods!”

Bishop paused, mulling this new revelation. This certainly cleaved through his confidence, that was sure. What was he to do now? That ring could be anywhere by now. What were his options? He had to keep looking, right? Or could he go back to the village and get Rowan, keep her with him for a bit while he finds a healer who can break through to her memories. It probably wouldn’t take very long; he could easily keep her under wraps for a few weeks. Sure, she was smart and resourceful, but by this point he had memorized the ins and outs of her. It’d be easy for him.

_ She’ll drive you mad. So mad you’ll want to lock her away. _

Shut up Apolinus. What do you know? Though strangely, everything the ex-fiance had been saying seemed to be coming true. He shook his head- much to the confusement of Omluag- willing those thoughts away. He’d find the ring.

But how? What thief would steal the ring? There’s no thieves guild. They’d sell something like that off in a heartbeat. Though that ring was special; they could be looking for the right buyer. And stealing something from the overseer of the smelter? He’d be half-crazy. So what kind of thief could fit that bill? Odd item collector, and with enough guts to fill two men.

“What’s the craziest account of theft you can think of from here, recently?” Bishop asks, looking back to him. A plan slowly forms in his mind; perhaps this may be much simpler than he first thought. 

“Well...ah…” Omluag begins, pondering the question. “Well a few months back, someone tried to steal one of the statues of Dibella, but… I don’t know who it was.”

“That’s enough, thanks.” Bishop says as he trudges back up the stairs.

…

He knocks once, twice, three times….this is getting ridiculous. He swings open the door, strolling inside and looking around. It’s ornate, which is to be expected in the golden city of the dwarves. However, the stiff looking shrine priestesses seemed on alert as soon as he walked in. Once they see his armor they bristle, suspicious of him.

“Um. Hello.” He calls out. “I have a few questions about the statue…”

“If you think you can try and steal it from under our noses I…” The eldest one sitting near the pool turns on him, sparks fluttering in her hand. 

“Woah! Calm down. I’m looking for the guy who tried to steal it. I couldn’t care less about the statue itself.”

“Why would you want to know about it…?”

“The thief may have something of mine. I need to find him.” Bishop leans against the wall near the door. “Well? Can you help me?”

She seems to ponder over the ramifications of doing so, wondering if it’s truly okay to tell him. Sure, Bishop looks suspicious, but really, it shouldn’t be that difficult. Damn people and their gods…

“I don’t know who it is for sure, but he had tattered clothing and reeked of wine.” She pauses. “That enough?”

“Anything else to distinguish him? You didn’t see his face at all?”

“Well, my eyes got caught by something else. He was wearing a ring of some kind, though I couldn’t see much of it. Just a glint of silver and emerald.”

“That’s all I need.” Bishop says, heading out the door. “Protect your stuff better next time.”

…

He’s wandering the streets of Markarth again for what seems like the billionth time. How often has he circled around this stupid mountain? He wasn’t sure, but it was definitely enough to earn him some sort of recognition for dedication. He’ll send Rowan to oblivion for causing this much trouble for him…

So a drunkard with tattered clothes. Only issue with that is that means there’s way too many suspects to count. All the mine workers, the prisoners in Cidhna mine, the workers in the Left-Hand mine nearby, anyone living in the Warrens… Great. Where does he start looking? 

His feet lead him back to the market in front of the inn, making him scowl in frustration. Still no plan, and he’s just done an entire lap around Markarth! Perhaps he could ask the shopkeepers; they could know about something like that. The jewelry stall may even deal in stolen jewelry. A few punches may reveal that. It’s empty at the moment, but as it stands, he has plenty of time on his hands. 

People mill about aimlessly, examining cuts of beef or jewelry down at the square, making snide comments and clinking coin absentmindedly. The sheer amount of noise they make reminds Bishop just why he hates people. 

He wanders through the crowds of people, figuring his next move. That butcher...he sits directly in front of the inn. Surely he’d have a good idea of people around here. He pushes his way past a female orc and a tall bosmer slowly, as if fighting a current of people. The guards watch him like eagles; perhaps no one here is trusting him. Or are they vigilant on something else? The tenseness in the air is menacing to him; it’s turned sour and painfully obvious over the past few days. What could be going on? Something wrong with the mines, or perhaps a death of a noble? No; that isn’t it. But he doesn’t know what it can be. 

Just as he reaches the vicinity of the crowd where the group thins out slightly, a flash of steel demands his attention. A knife in the crowd? Where? He looks to its owner, a dark skinned Breton with a crazed look in his eye. Bishop’s hand flashes to his thigh, drawing his dagger and shouldering his way to the man in, watching the knife raise in anticipation of being buried into the fair haired nord in front of him.

Bishop reaches them just as soon as the tip reaches the skin of her back, and Bishop’s far sharper dagger drives into the assassin’s spine with little mercy, cleaving the disks apart with ease.

“I die...for my people.” He manages to spit out before death takes him, gravity taking care of his body and Arkay with his soul. Or whatever god of death he believes in; it makes no difference to Bishop.

“One less brain damaged fool in the world.” Bishop shrugs, turning away. A slender hand grabs his spaulder and pulls him back around, ignoring how he tenses at the contact. 

“Hey...By the gods, that man nearly killed me. You saved my life. Thank you. Here, I was going to bring this to my sister, but I think you should have it." He half hoped for the ring to magically appear to him by fate, but it seems luck is never on his side. And, as if taunting him, an emerald necklace is pressed into his palm. If only it was a ring of the same characteristics…

“No. It’s alright. Give it to your sister.” He gives it back, suddenly aware of the weight of Rowan’s pendant on his chest. “But I do have a question for you. Have you seen an ornate emerald ring on anyone’s finger? It would have been completely out of place on them.”

“Let me think…” She pauses, shifting her weight to her hips and tapping her lips in thought. “No...but if it’s out of place, it’d be on someone desperate to steal it, but for some reason was deranged enough to keep it. Know anyone slightly deranged?”

Bishop’s hand hovers to his dagger again, amusing the woman. “Who are you?” 

“Margret. I’m just here to buy jewelry, love. But I’m trying to be of use to you, since you saved me.”

“Well as your savior, any way I can tap a bit further into that knowledge of yours?” He asks, flipping on his charm. “Like why everyone is acting like nothing happened?” He looks to the guards, who seem oblivious despite the major space in the crowd.

“I’ve noticed it too. I am not a fool like these others; something is wrong with this place. I’d leave as fast as you could, stranger.”

“Don’t tell me what to do…” Bishop kneels down beside the body, looking it over. He takes the gold and lockpicks, adding them to his own. Nothing seems particularly out of place…

“He was a forsworn spy.” A man whispers over his shoulder. “Meet with me at the Talos Shrine in a few minutes. I’ll explain.”

Bishop turns around to face the man, meeting only air. And when he turns back to talk more to the Margret, she’s gone too. Well, there goes the interrogation. However, she did have some good points. It’d be someone a bit cracked who could still steal and get away with it. The search has apparently narrowed significantly. He may as well meet that man at the shrine; perhaps he knows something. He may be grasping at straws, but it beats helplessly sitting by. His feet walk without his knowledge, letting him delve deeper into his thoughts.

"Come on, you outsiders always have plenty of gold on you. Spare a piece!"

Wow, what a bitter old man. He sits near Bishop’s boot, just tempting him to spin a kick straight into his jaw. He won’t even look at the beggar; he was never one to donate anyway. His feet keep taking him up the stairs, with his mind elsewhere. 

…

“Hello?” Bishop calls out, opening the doors to the shrine. Sure enough, a man sits near the shrine itself, idly fumbling with his fingers.

“You…!” He calls, standing up.

“Me.” Bishop confirms, walking down the suspiciously long hallway. “What did you want?”

“You know all the strange things happening around here...a woman nearly murdered in the streets, a guard who won’t react… Something is going on. And I want you to help me figure out what. That Margret girl...she and that man...Weylin, I think his name was, what was their connection? Someone needs to get to the bottom of this…”

“And what exactly do you think it is?” Bishop shifts to one foot, quite annoyed at the distraction.

“It’s the forsworn; that much is evident. I just don’t know what’s going on. I’m Eltry, and I’m just a concerned citizen..but you, you look intimidating. You could get it done and get to the bottom of this!”

“The forsworn?” His eyebrows shoot up as he feels his heart race in panic slightly. The forsworn are murdering those from Markarth. What about Rowan? Have the tides shifted in the forsworn’s faction? He has no clue. There’s no time to help this man; all this conversation has done is make the search that much more urgent. “Gotcha. I can’t help you; I don’t have the time. But I feel like the struggle is going to break sometime soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“A bit of a gut feeling…” His mind flips to the pacifist of a chieftain. With nothing more to say, he turns around and walks out, leaving behind an infuriated man.

…

The night air feels good to him; and for some reason, Markarth’s is especially calming to him. Perhaps that night he and Rowan spent on the top of the spire is starting to eat at him. Where could that damned ring be!?

"Alms. I said "alms" you backbiter. Give a crippled worker a helping hand."

Where could that beggar be here!? Bishop’s gaze wanders down the cliff face to the street below, where he sees the beggar has gotten up to terrorize the city. As of current he’s holding up some poor noble who looks like he’s about to wet himself.

“Ah…” The noble starts, taking out his coin purse with a shaky hand. The beggar looked half-crazed, with a half-scraggly brown beard, stained pants, and a ragged roughspun tunic that looked as old as the city. 

Bishop watched the gold and alcohol exchange absent-mindedly...until he saw a flash of silver and green. On the beggar’s hand...a ring. Well well well. We have our scruffy, alcoholic, misfit beggar. Perhaps the gods don’t hate him too much! He sprints down the street, eyes fully on his target. He won’t fight the old man, but ‘gentle’ persuasion may be needed for this one. He arrives at where the scared noble still stands, and quietly watches the beggar slink to the Warrens. He may have a better idea in store…

…

He walks into the Warrens a few hours later, noting the same musky smell as before. He knew it never changed. Everyone was asleep; mead and other miscellaneous bottles were strewn about on the floor, clumped around the unconscious bodies that litter the area like a part of the rubble. The beggar sits like the rest, slumped over and utterly intoxicated. The only one still on his feet was the doorman Garvey, who still clutched his bottle.

"The Warrens isn't a place for your type. What do you want?" He manages to say.

“Nothing much.” Bishop growls. “Who’s the lunatic over there?”

“Thas...that’s Degaine.” Garvey sniffs, pointing to him. “Poor guysa cripple!”

“Hm.” Is all Bishop could say to the drunken man. He walks over and squats down in front of him, not wanting to touch the beggar. Well, it was Rowan’s ring all right; but it was so dirty he could barely make it out. The delicate knotwork around the emerald had been filled with dirt, and the gem had a slight crack in the corner. However, it was hers, and it would most certainly do.

Even in its age and wear, he could see how beautiful the piece would have been at its creation. The knotwork, obviously done by hand, looped around continuously around the band, painstakingly etched in by a tool Bishop could only image was as large as a sewing needle. The emerald was perfectly cut with a small floral caricature of a rowan tree. It was more like art than something to be worn; Apolinus must be crazy himself to ever treat something like this as he did.

Well, it’s Bishop’s now. He slowly slips it off the man’s fingers, replacing it with a common silver band Bishop had snagged off of one of the bandits back at the dwarven ruin. That’ll confuse him in the morning. He grins to himself; he has it. He did it! He found the ring in the haystack! She’ll definitely remember this, right!?

But what if it doesn’t?

What if he gets back, shows it to her...and nothing? She doesn’t remember it; doesn’t remember him, and just stares at him blankly, a mix of sadness and confusion on her gaze like their last meeting? Could he even  _ take  _ that again? The forsworn would probably take that as a sign to close things out and would kill her. They had to have some way of damage control; Cael was probably sworn to take care of her until she either died or found out about her past self. If it goes wrong, what will he do?  **He should leave her there** .

Where did that thought come from?

He wants her back. But he also wants her safe. If he goes after her to get her back and the ring fails, she’s dead. If he leaves her there, not only will that Chieftain make a move on her, she’ll also end up dying later on. And there’s always the hanging doubt that the ring could have worked. He groans despite being alone; what is this paradoxical limbo?

In the end, it comes down to one simple rule: What would Rowan want? To rot as a forsworn, but alive, or to die as herself?

That made it obvious.


	24. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the new content for you people off of SRM!

**Rowan**

“Well here we are again.” I observe, looking into the darkness of my soul. 

“It’s always such a pleasure…” He sneers. 

“Let’s stop that before it gets awkward.” This isn’t reality; this is the dark abyss of my mind. With the new presence of Pioth, the usual benign grey mist that swirled around me is now an insidious black, with purplish figures lingering in the wasteland beyond my fingertips. “Pioth. Let me out.”

“Oh, I’m not trapping you. You’ve just passed out.  _ Without  _ forking over your body, I may add. Though that’s fine. My vice grip on your soul is good enough for now. I have all eternity, child.”

“As far as I’m concerned, my soul is still mine. Besides, when I die, you’ll have to fight with the princes over who gets a cut.”

“The princes? They are only powerful inside of their domain. If they try to interfere with the world of mortal men...particularly of a mortal’s heart...they will find themselves struggling for power. Meanwhile, I’m quite comfortable here. They can't collect if they can't reach you, dear girl.”

“Quite comfortable here? I’m going to go straight to the Vigilants of Stendarr, and have them run you out of me.”

“Because that certainly worked the first time, child…” I hear him chuckle from all sides, the fog billowing with his breath. 

“First time? What worked the first time?” 

“Ah...your memory loss. Such a shame.” He nearly purrs, circling around me like a lion. “Yes...you tried to drive me out, little Rowan…”

“This time I know your name...and who you are. Not that you’re just some low dremora…” I try and keep my calm, tensing my core and calmly staring ahead. “You cannot lie. Who do you serve, snake?”

“Myself.” He smirks, or at least I can feel it through the smoky wisps. 

“Oh? Then who made you?”

“Some idiot prince with no mind for higher things.”

“Azura.” I pause. She’s the only one not looking for the conquest of mortals...well, other than Peryite. And even though I like the prince, Peryite only has his skeevers to serve him. 

“Well, that took away some of the fun about it.” He admits. “But it’s true, child. I am my own master. And I have plans for you…”

“Plans? What kind of plans?”

“There’s just so much I can do with a descendant of a dragon…the question isn’t what am I planning, it is ‘what am I planning  _ first.  _ The extinguishing of the dragonfires? Re-enacting the Oblivion crisis? Breaking the gate? I don’t know. You’re such a good vessel for my power...” I feel the sinister atmosphere settle in around me, choking me as if hands gripped my throat. My mind flashes unwillingly to Ondolemar, squeezing the very life from my mind as I slowly slip into the black again. Is this how I wish to be tossed around? With another’s thumbs crossed over my trachea, strangling the life out of me as they please? Who am I, Dragonborn? Or some lowly housewife, content with being unable to do anything for herself except bat her eyes? I am Dragonborn. I am Rowan. I am powerful. I can overpower the likes of men and dragon alike; I’ve slain dremora like this countless times in conflicts with Mehrune. 

“Stand down, Pioth. You won’t conquer me. Not now, not ever.” I say, icy fractals forming at my feet and spinning off into the darkness, making the Oblivion-bound hellion show himself. I’ll stand on my own two feet, and not even a dremora can try and take me over. He manifests in front of me from the ashen cloud, staring at me with muddied black eyes that glint from the dark. 

“Never? I told you, Rowan. You are mine. I brought your soul back from Oblivion. You need me to live. I am your benefactor, your savior, your necromancer!” His leathery onyx face contorts into a smirk under his cracking facepaint, his tattered robes fluttering in the nonexistent wind. Before I can utter a word, his gaze wanders down from my face to my toes, his smug demeanor growing with his smirk at what he finds. “Don’t believe me? Look down.”

My gaze snaps down to my body, unmarred by the blood and sweat of my fall. Instead, my skin is cracked with a runny, oozing blackish string that tears across my body steadily like a heartbeat; wrapped around my skin like a tight spiderweb. Strings extend from Pioth’s shadow to my wrappings like a spider looking at a trapped insect. Fiery pain rips through to my very inner workings, my soul is trapped and writhing in his grasp. A thousand needles drag across my skin, stunning my held scream into nothing but a twisted wail of surprise as water floods up from below, submerging me in a matter of seconds. I gasp, releasing my oxygen as I twist and turn, trying to understand what’s happening as I drown, feeling my mind draw a blank, fuzzy grey.

…

Something drips onto my face, springing me awake and throwing me into a fit of spasming rage. I swing in front of me, punching air, and immediately regret the activity once my ribs crack painfully in my chest. I yelp as I feel the chilly air hit me; I accidentally flung the covers off me in rage.

“Rawa...Rawa!” Vec calls from the entrance to the tent, happiness making his voice quiver.

“Uh...that’s me.” I grin. “Where is everyone?” He doesn’t answer me right away; in fact, he doesn’t answer me at all. Just stares at me for a few seconds, quivering, before dashing out of the tent screaming like a maniac. I hear random yelps of noises and some alarmed cries before Prel and Cael both whip back the flaps on the tent. Once the full light of mid-day hits I finally realize I’m in Cael’s bed, settling in the complete middle with my clothes stripped off of me. I gasp and draw the covers closer to my torso, shaking my head as vigorously as my sore neck will allow. The pink tinge returns to my cheeks, and all I can do is sort of stare at them in some sort of bovine state.

“Rawa...you’re awake…” Prel gasps, shaking where he stands.

“Can’t kill me that easy…” I chortle, looking around. “Did you get the book…?”

“That’s the first thing you ask, Rawa?” Cael raises an eyebrow, letting out a deep sigh. He sits on the edge of the bed, resting a gentle hand on my knee, watching as I wince. “That book is worth nothing without you with it…”

“What? It’s alright. The forsworn needed it, right? Even if I had died, if it had helped a bit…” I grit my teeth and swing my feet over the sides of the bed, cringing before they even hit the floor. “Cael...I’m pretty broken...aren’t I?”

“You fell off that balcony, Rawa. Remember?” Prel says, aloof from my movement. “You surviving that sort of fall is a one in a thousand...no,  _ million  _ chance. The very fact that you aren’t paralyzed is a miracle in itself. Some God must love you, because in all rights, Rawa, you should be dead.”

“We had a healer look at you. She said you had ribs piercing your lungs, and a third of your bones are shattered. Your legs were barely salvageable after walking on them for so long, and she had to cut into your chest to dig out bone shards.” Cael informs me.

“Cut...into me?” I lift my shirt, looking to the scar running diagonally across my chest. “Oh, great. That’s a pretty big one.”

“It will remain with you forever..but it is better than you losing your life.” Cael lifts my chin, looking into my face. “What has you so troubled…? Is the scar so grotesque that…?”

“No, I’m sorry I just…” I pause, getting the hair out of my face. I instinctively lean over into him, resting my head on his shoulder tenderly. “Well...I guess it’s linked to it. I had an awful nightmare...Gods…”

“What was it about, Rawa?” Prel sits on the end of the bed, sitting Vec next to him. 

“I was talking with a dremora had my soul, and all of a sudden I had a crash of pain, and then it was like I was drowning…” I pause, searching their faces. Wait a second…

“Man that’s odd.” Prel says quickly. 

“Certainly a mystery...heh.” Vec tacks on. I feel Cael sigh from beside me, clearly troubled. 

“So quick question you two...when you found me, how did you get me back?” I observe Vec is in my arm’s length. Now then…

“Well I got to you first, Rawa, and I picked you up like you were a-” I don’t even let him finish before I smack Vec with a book on the bedside table. 

“You  _ know  _ you don’t just pick up someone who’s injured, Vec!” I scold whilst nursing my arm. Cael senses my pain and gently massages my elbow, setting the splints back in place without a word.

“Hey, we didn’t know what to do!” Prel protests.

“And I guess one of you idiots dropped me, didn’t you?” I accuse. At their silence, my eyes widen in fury and disappointment in everything I’ve ever believe in. “YOU DROPPED ME!?”

“It was an accident! Vec’s ear got itchy, he thought he could scratch  _ and _ hold…!” He says in defense, but thankfully Prel hits my idiot apprentice for me.

“And you guys positioned my head under the leak in the tent…” I sigh, looking up to the small tear in the top of Cael’s hut.

“That’s certainly new…” Cael mutters, grabbing a skin from a pile in the tent. He walks outside quickly, flinging the skin over the hole to cover it without another word. He comes back in, settling beside me on the bed, and stretches out where I was before. “It’s been raining non stop since we’ve found you…”

“Yeah, and the Chief has been so depressed without you…!” Vec announces happily, getting swatted on the back of the neck from Prel.

“Well...I mean...we all have. Um.” Prel starts. Cael shakes his head, his mind too intertwined with some thought to let the two bicker any longer.

“Leave, you two.” Cael commands, glaring at Vec. Vec opens his mouth to protest, but before he can Prel hooks the back of his hawk necklace and hauls him out of the tent, hurling curses towards no one in particular.

“Long time no see, Chief.” I comment, turning to look at him.

“Yeah. It seems like eternity.” He hooks me by the waist, gently settling me next to him, letting my head roll onto his shoulder. I close my eyes, lulled by his warmth, and nearly fall asleep instantly.

“How long have I been out…?” I mumble.

“Three days. Even with a healer, you’re bedridden for a month minimum.” He comments, 

pressing his lips to my forehead as I stare off into the distance.

“I can’t just...sit idly for a month.” I haul my legs to me, summoning my healing magic and pressing it into my legs. “It’s not like I can’t just heal my-” Cael smacks my hands away.

“The healer told me not to let you heal yourself. You’ve been repaired by magic too many times. Your bones will get brittle if you push your body with restoration any more. Rest. Let your body do the healing.” 

Well...he’s correct about that. Heal your body too many times in a short amount of time, and it usually ends with hairline fractures riddling your bones and flesh. Same with potions; use them too often, and you become immune and dull the skill you want to hone. This should do my body good. At least that’s what I’m telling myself; the sheer need to run into the rain is overwhelming my brain.

I wonder how the healer got here in this weather? Apparently it’s been raining about the same amount of time that I’ve been out for. Anyone crazy enough to go out in this and risk getting a nasty cold is crazy. Was it someone from the vigilance? Of course not. They count the forsworn gods as evil. A travelling healer? This far into the Reach? Probably not. They’d bypass this area completely  _ because  _ of the forsworn. From Markarth itself? No one there knows magic. Or is it…?

“Cael…” I call out, a sigh escaping my lips despite my attempt to stifle it. “Was I...healed by a hagraven?”

“Rawa…” He pauses. “I made sure they didn’t do anything to you except check you over...we do not have any other healers…”

“Cael…!” I sputter, checking my body over. “They...I know you revere them and I’m sorry but...Cael they...to people…!” I forcibly shiver before finishing.

“The briarhearts. I know. Their involvement with the old blood magic requires...sacrifices.” Cael traces the scar running parallel with my shoulder blade, a sorry look on his face. “I made sure she only healed you, Rawa. I wouldn’t let them try anything to you. The hagravens only have a truce with the forsworn themselves, but they would not ignore a Chief like me.”

The best I can do is sigh and lean into him, looking up to where the rip in the tent was. I pause before shifting, making him grunt in surprise and try to readjust me on his chest. I refuse, going to the edge of the bed and swinging my legs over, summoning two swords to use as crutches again.

“I need to get up...at least for a minute.” I argue as Cael tries to grab my shoulder. I shakily stand, noting the hagraven realigned my bones correctly so I could stiffly hobble. At least they bore weight, which is what I needed. I swing to the outside, being sure to support myself on anything nearby. 

Once the rain hits my forehead I look up, finally acknowledging this world as real. It still feels like a dream. My hand shakily reaches up, feeling the rain sprinkle onto my outstretched digits at a steady drum. Why? I...had to make sure. After that nightmare, I’ll be questioning everything as a ploy for a good amount of time. I know not the will of the daedra, but if it involves me, I want no part. The princes are fine enough; at least a few of them. Peryite, Nocturnal, Meridia-as annoying as she is, Azura, Jyggalag...they are fine. Their dremora servants keep to their realms. However, the dremora willing to come to the mortal realm have nothing but avarice in their stony hearts. 

A particularly large raindrop hits my nose, flicking me straight out of my daydream. Without a second thought, I lift my head towards the sky, my pupils widening at the light.

“ **Lok...Vah Koor!** ” I shout, watching the clouds retreat. “Falkreath could do with some rain, probably. The wind should send it that way.”

“Rawa, you’re back!” A forsworn sitting on one of the walls calls to me with a wave.

“Something like that!” I grin, feeling Cael emerge from the tent behind me. 

“If you’re going to go out, then let me…” A slight breeze brushes against the back of my knees, letting me know Cael is trying to pick me up. But my mind never fully registers that.

Although I know it’s him...my body seizes up. My mind knows it’s Cael, but the primordial warrior knows someone is trying to kick my knees out from under me…! My eyes widen and my heart thumps loudly, sparking me into action. Despite my injuries, my legs move by themselves, spinning me around despite the pain and jumping a safe distance away, giving out at that moment and sending me crashing to the ground.  I let out a slight whimper, hanging my head and catching my breath. My world continues to spin for a few seconds more as I gasp at the dull pain eating away at my bones; it’s nearly too much for me to handle. That fall...I can barely remember it. My mind was so scared, so utterly blank all I can remember is Ondolemar’s scowling face and the impact- 

I don’t want to think about it more. That’s behind me now. All I can do is keep moving forward. But should I dwell on the past? Who was I before all of this? Does it matter? The only one who’d know is Cael, and he’s seemed to dance around the topic for some time now. I’m a warrior, and apparently something called dragonborn...but is that important? Is it special? I don’t know; the only information I have is bits and pieces of random knowledge. Almost as if stuff is...blocked off from me knowing. Some things I can recover; like potion recipes. But any sort of memory or information about who I was before has been sealed tightly off. Did my own mind do it, or was it some other force? I don’t understand, and I don’t have the information to.

Cael crouches before me, letting me see his hand that reaches out to brush the hair out of my eyes as if I was some wounded dog. The bitterness flows back in waves; I sigh, knowing full well the eyes of every forsworn in the area just witnessed my spazz. I couldn’t help it; something inside me just still doesn’t trust others. I shouldn’t be as guarded as I am, and it isn’t Cael’s fault but...who  _ was  _ I?

“Cael, I’m...I…” I shake my head, accepting his outstretched hand to pull my to safety in his arms. “I’m sorry, my body just...moved on its own.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize…” He says, still partially shocked by my actions. “I shouldn’t try to grab one such as you; I’ve forgotten my place.” 

“I’m sorry I don’t know why...why I did that…” I breathe, steadily regaining my sensibility. I sheepishly pull away from him, leaning on the stairs with a sigh. “Can...someone make crutches for me? Something so I can get around…”

“It will be done.” He agrees, nodding to a nearby forsworn who darts off. 

“Thank you…” I look towards the table, now being spread with food and drink again by the other forsworn. Only then do I realize just how parched and hungry I am; I’ve been asleep for days after all. I can’t let my muscles just get weak like this…

Cael pushes a plate of food and a bottle of mead into my hand, sitting across from me on the low wall. He silently sits, perhaps sensing my tension; I can no longer tell anything anymore. Perhaps I should just ask? Being straightforward generally doesn’t hurt with people you trust. Do I trust him? I suppose so.

“Cael…” I look down to my legs, massaging a knee as I speak. “My reactions...my instincts...who was I? You seem to know. I’m not...I’m not just some simple traveler. You know me.” He processes my question with a blank expression, nodding slowly and looking off to the side. The bottle rolling between his palms gave me the impression that he was expecting this.

“Rawa...you are the Dragonborn. A dragon hunter who has the blood and soul of a dragon, yet the will and body of man.” Cael begins, rolling the bottle faster between his hands. “Though I know not of your endeavors; I have not lied to you. I do not know much of who you were before your capture. The forsworn knocked you out as I told you.”

“So why all the secrecy? The borderline lies?” I sputter, realizing my outburst and shaking 

my head sadly. “I’m sorry. But my brain is tearing itself apart and I need to know  _ why  _ and  _ who  _ I was.” He seems to contemplate that for a few moments, pulling out his dagger from his waist and twirling it in between his fingers idly. Fidgeting...he’s trying to figure out how to put this gently.

“Your name is Rowan. You were a Dragonborn from Markarth.” His gaze snaps to my face, his hand solidifying on the hilt of his blade. “That is all I know.”

“So why take me in? Wouldn’t it benefit you more to let me die?”

“I do not mind sharing the Reach. There is plenty of room and game here; my people have never occupied the entirety of our home. And the times do change. People come and go. It is not your fault you live where we try to capture. You have not slaughtered our brethren. We were in the wrong for attacking travelers; the gods frown upon such hostility and I am doing my best to correct it. Though the other chieftains...they are not above killing an innocent to make a point.”

So... pity. Well…” I pause, cracking a grin. “Eh, I’ll take it.”

“Your name and home do not make you remember anything?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well...that is…” He stops rolling the bottle, planting it on the wall. “Unfortunate. I am sorry, 

Rawa.” 

“Don’t be. Not your fault, Chief.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Sheesh. Should have just told me all that before. No need for the secrecy.” Once he realizes the tension has been diffused, he hosts a small smirk on his lips.

“Well, a beautiful woman who can slaughter me in an instant shows up...I could not help but feel scared.” He drinks from the bottle, standing. “I will go check on those crutches of yours…” 

…

**Cael**

That certainly went better than expected, though my heart's still racing. I grabbed my dagger in case her memories were to wake, but I know deep down I do not have the resolve to kill her. Rawa...Rowan. Two sides of the same person. If I had met her in battle, would I have been able to fight her? Power differences aside, I don’t believe I could. She’s terrifyingly beautiful, like a dancer with a rusty sword sharp with her experience. Even in injury, she still carries the grace and caution of her dragon kin, soaring over the skies where the humans below cannot touch her.

Without thinking, I stand and leave my things on the wall. She’s still curious after my answer, but I can’t tell her more. In fact, I’m quite relieved about this conversation. Now I can have a clear conscience. I told her everything she’s asked, and I haven’t lied to her. Her name is Rowan, she is from Markarth, and she is the Dragonborn. I took her in because I didn’t want her killed. That’s it. Right?

I nod to one of the wandering warriors, coming back from a hunt. My eyes wander forward to one of the stone huts, my mind still flickering on Rawa. I feel so alone here. The village full of people…

I smile at a mother and her child, passing them casually.

...Full of people that seem so fake. As Chief, although I don’t want it, I hold this air of authority that makes people treat me with respect. And that respect usually comes in the form of compliments and people avoiding me at all costs so they don’t screw up in my presence. Sure, being the Chief can have its slight perks. I get a bigger lean-to. I have the blessing of the Gods. But it comes with many troubling things. Dealing with the clans, dealing with the bandits, keeping the village together… Finding a wife…

I’ve forgotten about that.

There is currently no one eligible in my own village; I’d need to visit other places to find a suitable mate. But that takes time away from strengthening the village… not to mention Rawa’s injuries… I can’t take the time away from here. Not yet. If Rawa were alright, I’d happily leave the village in her care, but… that’s wishful thinking with her state. Will I ever find the time, or will it always be excuses? I can’t see myself happily wed to some warrior’s daughter, with her parents breathing down my neck for children. Not to mention my hypothetical wife’s drive for the perks that come with being wed to a chief. My wife could make or break a village. Create a divide in the forsworn, and the village will sink into the split. Though if I find someone strong enough to hold herself at my own level, a warrior who won’t simply sit still and look pretty…

But I don’t know anyone like that.

Not anyone who’s a forsworn, anyway. 

Rawa would be perfect...if she were only forsworn… but I can’t think like that. She isn’t. And much less, she wouldn’t agree to marry me. Not with her mind cloudy like this. Or would she? She seems like she’s content here; even wary of her past. She flinched when I told her name as if she was scared of remembering. The dragonborn, afraid of her own memories. She has no clue what they hold, but Rawa is much too intelligent for her own good. She knows the position she’s in, and realizes she’s completely reliant on what little she remembers. The only one she’s willing to get close to and fully trust is Vec, and that’s because he cannot physically pose a threat to her. He’s the human equivalent of an underbaked sweet roll. Still an amazing thing, but...well. It’s an underbaked sweet roll.

How can I get her to trust me more? We still sleep in the same bed, but the damn thing is so large we can sleep at separate sides with relative ease. Damn the carpenter that made the thing… And speaking of carpenters…

I can hear a toothed saw cutting through sturdy oak wood, and a mallet knocking a dowel into place. The woodworker and fletcher, Hivrach, holds his small workshop in the hut I've allowed him. I duck inside, looking around to the multiple saws, planes, and mallets that hang in odd places from the roof, amongst finished pieces and arrows with drying resin. 

And I smack my head on the doorframe.

“Geez…” I hiss, ducking into the hut properly. “Hello, Hivrach.”

“Ah! Chief! Here are the crutches for Rawa. Finest materials we have; they’ll do ‘er good!” He says excitedly, shoving them into my hands. They were sturdy and roughly her height; they’d do. “Pickin’ them up yusself? Why?”

“Thank you, Hivrach.” I ignore the last questions.

“No need to thank me, it’s my job!”

“Right. Please continue to make your excellent arrows, friend.”

“You betcha!”

With that, I turn around and nearly walks into a ring of my own warriors. They shouldn’t be here; what is it? They form a semicircle around me, and I can’t help but feel this is some sort of trial…

My eyes flicker to Rowan, sitting on the wall a few platforms above him, entertaining a group of children. She holds up a stick above her, rearing her head back and using her fire breath shout, igniting the stick to the amusement of the kids. Do the warriors see her as weak, and wish to throw her out? 

“Well, this is certainly a surprise…” I hear himself mutter.

“Chief Cael…” The one in the middle starts, looking around to the others. “We need to discuss something with you.”

“Here? Now?” I feel the heat of gazes that aren’t there; other than the woodworker and Vec, we’re far away from the others. Most sit eating a few platforms up, and the rest sit watching Rawa’s magic show. 

“Yes, Chief. Now.” A female warrior stands next to me, facing the semi-circle. “Though I stand with you on this matter.”

“What is the issue at hand? Why have you all gathered here?” I question, crossing my arms. I hear Hivrach finish the arrow he’s on and slink off; he’d rather not get involved with this business. That, or perhaps he’s gone to gossip. No matter. The only other one immediately in our range is Vec, and well...he’s Vec. I doubt he’d give anything about this meeting away.

“It is about your dragonborn, Cael.” I freeze at their words. It  _ is  _ about Rawa...

“She is not mine.” I say adamantly. “She is a warrior in her own right.”

“You took her in. You are her benefactor.”

“Agree to disagree. What about her? She sits injured, but do not think her weak...”

“She is the dragonborn. And not only is she in our clutches, she’s unwed…” One begins. I stiffen at their words. Dammit… My mind has been elsewhere on the subject, but they’ve been waiting at the sidelines patiently. Now that she’s injured and locked to us for protection, people are getting interested in her strength. These people...happy to marry for power. The village itself has been tailored to my liking; we’re a peaceful sort. But the warriors...they’ve mingled with the other tribes, and have obviously picked up a few unsavory things.

“Yes? And? Is that a crime? A woman being unwed…? Call the nords, we’ve picked up their culture!” I announce, raising an eyebrow. A few chuckle unwillingly around me, but for the most part the tension remains. They still want my authority, but they all feel very passionately about this. How can I put them at ease…?

“No, but she’s the  _ Dragonborn.  _ She bears the blood of the dragon. The only way to integrate her fully is to pair her with one of us…!” One says, tugging on his belt in contemplation. They’ve all been thinking this for some time. To actively try and go against something I command…

“And is she not her own warrior? Let her follow what she feels, Traug.” Fai, the female warrior next to me spits harshly. She too is unwed; our culture does not require it. Both male and female are equal in the eyes of the forsworn. 

“Do not go against me, Fai. Just because you enjoy the company of other w-” He wasn’t allowed to finish as Fai lunges forward, grabbing his face and flinging him backwards onto the stone. She fumes for a few moments at her fallen foe, paralyzed on the ground, and finally turns back to me with a scowl.

“Will you punish me for that..?” She asks.

“I saw nothing. But I hope the others who stand against us did.” I say, not changing my tone. “And none of you are to touch Rawa. Are we clear? She will be  _ my  _ mate. The dragonblood will serve our village well; do not worry. But it won't be on your terms.” I authoritate, shifting my weight to my hip to make myself seem more poised. These warriors...I may need to whip a few back into place after this…

“Yes, Chief…” They all seem to nod to me awkwardly, calmed by my answer and simultaneously disappointed. They shamble about, still stunned by my declaration, and eventually stumble off into their respective posts. It seems even my trained fighters are still interested in satiating their own hungers. And they aren’t particularly concerned at keeping it covert, either. 

Wait a moment...what have I done? I said all of that without even thinking. Rawa? My mate? I had barely even entertained the idea and here I just declared it to my warriors...Gods forgive my hubris; I’ve accidentally involved another person in my wishful thinking. Though is it really? Rawa seems to be unable to get her memory back; her name and home didn’t spark so much as a single instance. So she will really have to integrate into the village here. And although I may deny it as I will, I do need a wife. Rawa would be the perfect person for that; I know her well enough to be sure she’d lead this village to prosperity, even should I perish.

Not to mention...every time I’m close to her my heart tenses. At first I actually found it terrifying; as if I was ill and my body was breaking apart. But I’ve somehow found myself addicted to that feeling, drawn closer to her and wanting more every time she’s gone. I...don’t know if this is called love, but it’s the best word I have to describe it. People use ‘love’ so superficially, saying they love an object, a place...this is much more than that. It feels like my happiness solely relies on her own presence...and seeing her so crestfallen after the fall… it made me feel like my own breath had been stolen by a cruel god. 

So what do I do? I need her to be happy. Would she be happy by my side? Songbirds lose their will to sing when caged. My sparrow may quit to be if I try and trap her like that… But is it really trapping? She was traveling with the dark one before...surely he would do more to tie her down than I would. Perhaps this would be good for her; I never thought of her situation before she was entrusted to me. She’s brilliant and graceful like lightning itself, but perhaps she can spread her wings a little farther in his village than with Bishop. Away from her responsibilities, and away from  _ him _ … 

“Chief…” Fai says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “A word…?”

“Of course?” I grin, cracking a smile.

“The dragonborn...she…” Of course she’s concerned. My words made me sound just as bad as those I faced. 

“Worry not, Fai. Although I ask you for you to keep it private…” I pause, sighing. “It seems I’ve let a certain woman get a firm grip on my heart. I won’t let them touch her; both out of respect for her, and my own desire…”

“Chief...you...love her?” Fai says, clapping her hands together, relieved. At her words, my mind reels back to the past events...of watching her run around with Bishop, a pit in my stomach, to her peacefully sleeping at my side, feeling the rise and fall of her chest on my side gently. All the way to… the third night we spent in my tent, where I came so close to...with her… My mind can barely take recalling that last event, her soft skin pressed against mine… Damn the bandits that interrupted to Oblivion. The battle raged until the morning, and by that time both of them were exhausted. He had fought twice as hard as normal, completely enraged by coming so close to having her, only for it to be yanked away by his responsibilities…!

“Keep it quiet, Fai…!” I mutter, looking over to Vec. He sits, organizing Rawa’s potion ingredients, probably at her request. It’s one of the few things he hasn’t messed up to date. “I do not want others to see her as my weakness.”

“She’s the dragonborn. If anything, you’d be  _ her  _ weakness… But that being said...That’s a relief. Rawa one of the few interesting people we seem to have here, Chief. Try talking to her through your heart; you’ll see.” Fai chuckles. “We had a good four hour discussion on the stars; me with our own lore and teachings, and her with the teachings of the Bretons. We’re more alike than we think, Chief.” With that hint she walks off, her braid fluttering behind her like a defiant flag. I know what I need to do. I settle the crutches under my arm, heading back up to Rowan. 


	25. Knowledge is Power

****

**Rowan**

Interesting. The limited truth he gave me didn’t have any sort of sinister feel it; almost like he’s some parent telling a child something to protect them. I remember our conversation a few days ago; it feels like forever, the chill of my injuries creating a rift between then and now. I need to focus. I need to overcome this injury, and I’m not about to lean on Cael to do it. The physical crutches will suit me fine. 

The other chieftains did want to kill me. Surely, they still want to. The forsworn lust for blood is ever-evident in the warriors; they mingle with the other tribes and harbor that same craving for the beat of battle. So if I were to regain my memories...the other chieftains would take my life. That has to be what he’s protecting me from. It’s sweet, in a twisted sort of way. Now that he knows I’m not going to get anything back from my real name or home, it seems he’s lightened up considerably. That’s fine.

“Your face looks troubled. What is it?” A girl I know as Geia walks up, sitting herself on the ground in front of me.

“Something I need to work out on my own.” I reply, looking down to her. “Did you want to continue from where we last let off?”

“Please.” She bows her head momentarily, grinning up to me. The girl had cedar brown hair that draped her shoulders in beautiful dreadlocks, grazing her shoulders all the way to her cinnamon skin. Redguard and breton was my best guess on her heritage. Her complexion favored the redguard in her. Glass beads swung in between her locks of hair, with a feather that nearly seemed attached to her scalp with how well it stayed in. These people and their hair baubles… I will never understand how they all defy gravity. 

“Certainly. You remember what I taught you?” I ask, waiting for her response. She settles her legs under her, crossing them and centering her palms in front of her. She closes her eyes, concentrating on her hands as a small fire crackles from between her fingers. “That’d be a yes. You’ve gotten stronger.”

“I need to know more. More than what the shamans know.” She replies, extinguishing the flame. “Please...teach me all you know. I need more power-I need to be like you!”

I can’t help but chuckle at her words. “I was powerless a few years ago. I will teach you what I can, but much of it will be your prerogative to break through. Do you know of conjuration?” 

“The shadow purple ghost fog?”

“Shadow purple  _ oblivion  _ fog, thank you.” I smirk. “Conjuration is linking your mind to something in Oblivion; the realm of the daedras. Whether that thing is a storm atronach or a sword cast from its miasma is up to how you attune yourself. Focus your mind; push your mind for something sharp, quick, and solid. Do it enough and push in a bit of magic…” I summon a dagger out of Oblivion, making sure to take it slow so she can watch the purple mist form in my hand and solidify itself. 

“Sharp...quick...solid…” She repeats, pushing magic into her palm. My eyes widen as I watch her attempt; the girl is full of raw, unbridled power with no way to control it. I see the purple mist erupt to a black, summoning something hellishly unbound. Before she can go any further I swirl my palms, pushing magic into the breeze and swiping it in front of her, banishing whatever...that was.

“Again. You don’t need much power. Just tell your mind it wants a dagger. A sharp, quick, and solid dagger. It should do the rest.” I pause, readying myself.

She tries again, this time forming the handle and blade just as I had. Wasn’t as sharp, but she can work on that. For now, she needs to get the shape down. 

“Look, I’m doing it…!” She gasps, speeding herself further in excitement. Bad move. I see a crack snake out from the hilt along the blade, and my hand snatches out to put a ward around the two of us. The dagger shatters, the shards ricocheting off the magic shield and slipping back to their dimension.

“No longer doing it. But...I will admit, you would’ve had it if you didn’t get excited and try to rush it. Anyway you slice it, you’re getting sloppy because you speed up.”

“Seriously, Rawa?”

“Want someone else to teach you, brat?”

“I mean...haha…” She laughs awkwardly, making eye contact with my unamused face. We burst out laughing at the standoff, eventually turning back to her lessons. In time she’ll get it. She may even surpass me. She has such a large mana pool and natural affinity for the gift; all she needs is a bit of guidance. I summon my dagger again, holding it front of her. 

“Think of it like this; the dagger is a physical manifestation of your magic. Too quick, and it’ll be brittle and crack like what you just saw. Too slow, and it won’t have an edge. You need to concentrate on what you want, and summon it just as you think. Eventually, you’ll be able to do it faster than you can draw an actual dagger. However, if you’re nervous, or scared, or even just angry...your dagger won’t form and you’ll be left in the dust. Mages need to keep their hearts as level-headed as their brains, both for their own good and for their magic. Try it again. But this time...I want you to close your eyes.”

“It’s not like I’m scared, you know…” Geia pouts. She does as I tell her to; squeezing her eyes shut and slowly pressing magic into Nirn again. I nearly gasp at what she’s summoning; instead of the normal caricature of an iron dagger most summon, she snakes out a forsworn dagger for herself; a leather wrapped hilt, with two teeth making a guard for her hand and a long, scraggly blade snaking out the front made of shadow obsidian. It’s a bit longer than my daggers, so she’ll need more mana for it...but with her skills, that certainly won’t be an issue.

“Open your eyes.” I smirk, watching her eyes flip open and plant themselves at what she created. “Well, personal flair was going to come later...but it seems that it helped you.”

“Woah…” She turns the blade over in her hands, wincing as the rough guard licks her palm. She tests the edge of the blade, a smile plastered from cheek to cheek as she looks to her accomplishment.

“And a sword isn’t even too much longer.” I summon my own blade, a daedric sword with a curling guard that snakes around the hilt. “How about you practice that a bit, and then I’ll teach you how to summon a candlelight and heal yourself.”

“Fair enough.” She nods, getting to her feet. “Question...how do I let it disappear?”

“You’re attached to it, that’s why it’s hard.”

“So if I drop it?”

“I meant emotionally attached.” I chuckle. “Don’t drop it. That’ll hurt.”

“You do it all the time…!”

“I’m special. It’ll drain your mana faster than Vec forgetting to cork up the mead barrels.”

“You said I had plenty…!”

“Still hurts.”

“I want to try. You said I had a lot more mana than you. Let me try. If I can do it, you need to teach me something else before you send me off!”

“Hm. Okay. Try it.” I cross my arms, trying not to grin to alert her. She hesitates for a few moments, dropping the dagger. Immediately, her hand cramps and I see her eyes widen as her mana drains, immediately sending shivers down her spine as she grips at her fingers. She looks to me, bewildered, probably pleading for what to do.

“Smash the dagger.” I say calmly. She obeys, smashing the poor bound dagger with all her might to relieve the strain on her body. After it’s gone she hesitates once again, heaving a sigh of relief and slowly taking the time to speak. “What’d we learn?” I tease.

“Don’t...let go of bound stuff.”

“Only arrows from your bound bow are okay. Understand?”

“Yes, teacher…” She summons another dagger, closing her eyes and letting it fade.

“Now go practice that. Once you can do that as fast as…” I draw a dagger from my waist, pointing it at her. “Then we’ll move on. Okay?”

“Really…!? But you’re too fast…” She frowns.

“Hey, it’ll serve you well. I’m going to teach you how to fight; you’re going to need to keep up with me if you want to protect anything, Geia.” 

“Fine…” She huffs, walking off, her hair swinging behind her.

“It seems she’s progressing well.” A voice behind me chimes, crutches now leaning against the wall next to me. I turn around to see Cael, inches from me, a slight smile on his face.

“She’ll be better than I.” I nod, looking to the crutches. “Oh great.”

“They are for your own good; you agreed you wouldn’t heal yourself with magic.” Cael hops over the wall and sits down, staring out into the busy Forsworn platform. A young boy skitters by with a box, huffing as he speeds off to a lower platform. A man curses while trying to fix a tent, installing a heavy elk skin to replace the original sabre cat. 

“Right, right…” I pause. 

“Geia...do you think she will be a good warrior?”

“She may end up favoring daggers. It’ll be pretty fabulous. I’m looking forward to it, personally.”

“...Fabulous?”

“Stabulous.” 

“Rawa…” I hear him squeeze his eyes shut, keeping in a chuckle. “Do you just set up puns like that naturally, or…?”

“Eh, I think of them when I’m alone for later use.” I shrug. 

I feel an arm wrap around my waist as he nudges into my neck, exhaling softly. Well, what do we have here? I reach up behind him, slowly rustling his hair with a smirk on my lips.

“Finding me like that was pretty scary, huh?” He leans my weight onto his, the actual motivation behind the embrace evident. “To make even the level-headed Chief-”

“Terrified.” He breathes, not even letting me finish.  

“Well…” I pause. “It wasn’t as bad as it looks?”

“Rawa…”

“Okay, it was bad.” I sigh, turning so he can wrap his arms around my back and rest his head on my shoulder. “But I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t be alive…!” 

“Huh. Someone forgot to tell me that.” I shut my eyes, feeling his grip on my tunic tighten. I shouldn’t be alive. And Pioth is the only reason I  _ did  _ live through that. I can’t tell Cael, but I can do my best to calm his fears. I don’t intend to die just yet; I’ll beat Pioth back to oblivion ten times over before I allow him to take my body. 

Before I can even snap out of my daydream of beating a daedra with a book of Stendarr, I feel myself lifted off the ground, hoisted into very strong arms. The arms around my waist were all a ruse…!

“You’ve had enough time outside.” Cael decides, dipping down to pick up my crutches in one hand. He heads towards his tent, pushing open the flaps with his shoulder and settling me on one side of the bed, sliding down onto the other, exhausted. I can’t even say a word as he pulls me to him, settling me against his front and nestling his head on top of my crown, sighing softly.

“Cael…?”

“I didn’t sleep a second from when we found you to now...I think you owe me a bit of shuteye.” He says, already drifting off, the light grip he had on my hips softening even further. I keep still, feeling the rise and fall of his chest on my back steadily. I can’t help but smirk to myself; he’s too cute. I lean my head back and kiss under his chin lightly, winding a finger through his golden locks as I drift off too.

…

We wake up in a few hours, when the sun is halfway through its descent. He riles first, waking me with his soft grunt from sunlight hitting his eyes from in between the flaps of his tent. My eyelids still feel heavy but I push my feet over the side of the bed, sighing as I grip the crutches. I feel fingers grip the back of my tunic as Cael’s body tenses behind me, and I can tell without looking that his head is stoic and bowed to my back.

“Rawa I’m sorry...for a task that  _ I  _ sent you on...you…” I narrow my gaze, staring at the walls of the tent. Yeah, okay. We aren’t doing the angst today. I guess he had a nightmare and that’s what tripped the emotion train again...

“Oh come on Cael, stop groveling.” I tear away from him, standing without my crutches and turning to look at him. “I’m here, I’m alive. That’s it. Quit being upset over one little person, and get your ass back into gear for tending to your village. It’ll slip from your fingers if you aren’t careful,  _ Chieftain _ .” I emphasize, watching as his face turns to quiet contemplation. “Quit being a weenie and get back to your old self. Being upset over someone who’s still alive and well isn’t worth it.” I pick up my crutches, settling them under my arms.

“You’re right...there are things that need to be done...preparation…” He pauses at the last word, letting it hang in the air in between us as if it was a secret. It very well could be. Before I can ask about it, he’s on his feet as well, straightening his clothing and reapplying his war paint.

“Go easy on the eyeliner, princess. You aren’t going to war on a battlefield or in a meeting house yet.” I tease, swinging myself outside. Warriors sharpen their swords, archers practice their aim, and villagers scramble with crates and canvas bags in their hands. What was going on? Preparations, it’d seem. But preparations for what?

I see Vec wander by my vision, and I sling my arm around his shoulder and press him to my side, feeling him writhe under my grasp. 

“Ohhh Vec…?” I say smoothly, making us both face out into the crowd. He swallows hard, biting his tongue and fidgeting.

“Ah...yes, Rawa?”

“What’s going on….?”

“Ididntmeantobreakit!” He says quickly, shutting his eyes and tensing his entire body so tight I thought he’d explode.

“Huh?” I search his face. “Don’t wee yourself, man. What’d you break?”

“Your...I didn’t mean to…!” He holds up a broken flute.

“That isn’t even mine, Vec.” I shake my head at the poor instrument. 

“...Oh. Never mind then!” He breaks free and skips off happily back into the fray. I shake my head absentmindedly, looking out into the verdant plains surrounding the village. I want to go out there, but my legs won’t let me. I know I heal faster than anyone else; Arkay has seen to that. I’m not supposed to die just yet. Or...at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I’m healing unusually fast, even for my favor with the divines. Almost like some other being is lending me a bit of strength…

Pioth. I can barely think of his name without lurching forward suddenly in sickness. My breathing restricts despite nothing wrong with my throat once my mind wanders to him. I banish the thought of him in the back of my mind, calming myself and sitting on the wall again.

“You left before I could make a witty reply, Rawa.” Cael sits next to me again, stifling a yawn by pretending to lean his head on his fist, looking to be in contemplation like many of the elven statues I’ve seen. 

“And? What’s your witty reply?”

“...I didn’t think of one…” He smirks, bracing himself on the wall and looking out onto the still bustling villagers.

“Man we are freeloaders right now.” 

“No, I am a freeloader. You, however, are injured.” He sighs. “I suppose I will go help my people…”

“Cael...what are they preparing for?” I ask, blinking. Cael pauses, contemplating my words and slowly formulating an answer.

“I...don’t know myself. Anything.” He admits, standing up. “Don’t worry; it is just a precaution.”

“You say that, but…Cael, I’m able too. Give me something to do and I’ll do it...I’m not content with sitting around.” Immediately I sense he wants to tell me to relax, and that isn’t going to work with me. “Dammit you stubborn man, let me do something! Even Vec has a task, and the only time I’ve ever seen him finish a project he’s started is when he made those flower crowns!” 

“Your potions are beneficial to us…” He seems to pause. “But do not push yourself.”

“I’ve had worse injuries than this, Cael. This is nothing.” I smirk, standing up on my own power and leaning on a crutch. “I heal faster than most. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right as rain in a week, tops!” 

“I want to believe your words…” Cael pauses. Who does he think he is!? My eyes glare at his face, reaching out my hand and planting it on his face slowly, shutting him up from saying anything else stupid. 

“Stop. I’ll go make potions until you think of something else I can do.” I turn away, heading down to my platform when suddenly...stairs. An announcer pops into my head, like those that mediate underground fights; ladies and gentleman...it’s me versus these stairs...Are we ready to  _ stumble…!  _ Bad pun, but it’s all I can think of right now. Going down diagonally may look really stupid, but at least it’d work. Or… Well, I have all this upper arm strength, I may as well use it. And no, I’m not walking on my hands. I’m sure Vec would run over like some little kid and push my feet over, then realize what he’s done and cry for a week straight.

I need to go down two platforms; this set of stairs only has four steps, and the other has a lot more. This will be the trial run, I suppose. I plant my two crutches at the bottom of the stairs, pushing off so I’m balanced like a gymnast, and after hesitating for a moment I lower myself back to the ground. I sigh in relief, hobbling on towards the next set before…

A pair of arms sweep her up against a warm body, but it isn’t Cael’s. A boiled creme treat gets shoved in my open mouth, agape with a silent yelp. I look up at the figure with furious eyes, seeing a grinning Vec staring down at me, a crooked smile on his soft face. 

“Vec…!” I gasp, feeling him walk down the stairs.

“You are going to make the potions, right?” he says happily. “I’m going to help you! You tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it, I promise!” He’s all too happy to be working again. I guess he’s been as restless as Prel and Cael. 

“Yes, I am. Thanks, Vec.” I giggle at his childish demeanor despite being able to lift me this easily. He’s no warrior, but I’ll be damned if years of physical labor hasn’t made him as strong as an ox. 

“But first…” His grin widens and he takes me towards the altar, a minute’s walk from the village. I look at the huge grotesque monolith, squirming as best as I could. I had faith in him; he wouldn’t hurt me, surely, but what if someone tricked him!?

“Vec...what are you doing!?” My eyes widen, and my legs buck as I try and get him to drop me. 

“You’ll see!” He says happily. “Me an’ Prel been planning it!” With his words I calm down immediately, sighing and letting out a small chortle at myself. Vec’s smarter than to just deliver me to some hagraven. And if Prel’s involved..it’s harmless.

I can see the teen himself, sitting on the steps with something in his lap. His gaze snaps up once we grow closer, and he smiles sheepishly at me as I wave sarcastically, pointing to Vec and shrugging. 

“Greetings, Rawa.” He says once we get closer. Vec pauses once we’re in front of him, waiting for orders from Prel. Prel, meanwhile, blinks at Vec, widens his eyes and pats the stair space next to him. Vec gingerly sets me down, careful of my legs, still smiling as wide as he was before as he settles down on the stair below. “Rawa we…”

“Hm?” I perk up. “What, wanted to talk?” 

“Huh? No...we know you must be…”

“Hungry?” I munch on the cream treat. 

“No!”

“...tired?”

“Mad, Rawa. Mad!”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because of us you…” Prel shakes his head at my legs. I slap him immediately. Just a light tap from the crown of his head to his chin; pushing enough force in my fingers to remind him I’m not helpless.

“Don’t start getting angsty with me; I’ve already had to deal with Cael twice. I’m fine. I’m alive, and although I’m technically not kicking, I’m pretty sure I can punch that remorse out of ya if I try hard enough. Got it?” I get to my feet, looking out at the village. It seemed so much farther away than it really was; from the stairs of the altar, the people on the platforms appear untouchable. I could see one of the shapes as Cael, his longbow slung over his back as he spoke to several warriors.

“Rawa you were so close to…” I clamp a hand down onto the top of his head, squeezing gently and raising an eyebrow. 

“Stop talking.” I sit back down, gently sitting cross-legged. 

“Well...at least…” He starts, holding up whatever was in his lap. It was a leather bracelet, woven with bits of moonstone among the intricate braid with a long, thin feather acting as a final strand in the weave. 

“Woah...You guys made that? For me?” I raise an eyebrow, blinking as he ties it around my wrist. 

“I got the moonstone! I saw a shady guy while I was at the mine, and…” Vec tries to go on, but Prel interrupts him. 

“Yeah, we did. It’s to make amends for letting you fall, Rawa. We’ll always be with you from now on...we promise.” 

“Aw...that’s so sappy!” I smirk, pulling Prel into a big hug, squeezing him to me tightly. I pat his back lightly, happy I can feel a small chuckle when I do so. It’s no good if even the kids are depressed over silly things. He needs to be happy. As I pull away I see Vec’s face, utterly destroyed and distraught over the affection. I cover my mouth to stifle my cackle at how crestfallen he is over something like this in vain, letting out a slight quack. “Vec, I can’t hug you unless you come to me!” I open up my arms, waiting. He springs from his feet like a sabre cat, picking me up off the stairs into a standing hug as he crushes me to him without mercy. I pat his back too; not as a calming gesture, but because I’m trying to tap out of this damn fight because I can’t breathe at all-!

“Let her go, Vec! You’re going to kill her!” Prel chuckles at my face turning red. Vec drops me, still pleased with himself. 

“Phew!” I sigh with relief, looking over to Prel. “Thanks guys!” 

“No Rawa! It’s ‘I love you guys’!” Vec pleads.

“Fine. I love you two. Okay?” I smirk. “Now...I have potions to make.” I look down to Prel. “Want to help, Mr. Scholar?” 

“Really…?” He asks. “Isn’t Vec your assistant?”

“Hey, the more people who know how to brew healing potions and antidotes, the better I’ll feel. And I think poisons and antidotes may be just up your alley.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s math with plants.”

“I see your point.” 

“Now then…” I look to the stairs. “Little help? I don’t even have my crutches.”

“...Oh!” Vec exclaims, running back to the village, squealing. He’s in full sprint, spurting out random noises as he closes the gap between him and the village.

“Ah, Vec…” I sigh. “He could have just taken me...He’s certainly strong enough.

“He’s...interesting.” Prel pauses. “I’ve tried to teach him things...he can read well enough, but doesn’t comprehend what he’s reading unless it’s something like a label. I’ve read about something similar in a few textbooks…”

“Prel, do you want to be a doctor?”

“I was hoping...aye.” He pauses. “Why?”

“In my bag...from when you all found me...there’s plenty of books on medicine and restoration magic. There’s even my field journal where I took notes on all sorts of different plants I had found, and what they mix with to form what sort of potion. You can have them.”

“Rawa...I can’t...your own journal? Doesn’t that contain...you know, sentiment? Memories?” I laugh again, taking him by surprise. I sit back down on the step once I see Vec has gotten distracted at the long table, gorging himself on some food that just came back from the outdoor oven.

“I flipped through it. Every single word I’ve written down I know by heart. You can take it, Prel. That information survived me losing my memory-it isn’t going to go anywhere.” I lean back, propping myself up on my elbows, resting them on the step behind me.

“But...that’s part of your life’s work…!”

“Fine. How about you ‘borrow’ it, and copy the information into a book of your own?” I look over. “You  _ can  _ do research on your own, you know.”

“Yeah...I understand.” He goes quiet, lost in his thoughts.

“Prel?”

“Yes, Rawa?”

“Would you ever want to go to college?” 

“How did you…!?”

“You look like you’re thinking about higher things.” He sighs, knowing his face betrays him constantly. He and Vec would be awful at playing cards.

“I would...but I know it’s impossible. I’m forsworn. We don’t dabble in knowledge. Only what the ‘Old Gods’ want, and taking back the Reach. Never bettering ourselves…”

“What is up with you being such a downer today? Go anyway!”

“Rawa, we both know that’s impossible.” 

“Vec, thankfully for you, you have the most tolerant Chief of all time. Buy some mage’s robes, throw ‘em on, and make your way to Winterhold. You’re an individual, Prel. Sure, you’re part of a community, but you can do something for yourself if you want. You aren’t tied down to this land.”

“But Cael is… and leaving would be like acting childish; showing his sacrifice is in vain.”

“I would think he’d want you to go even more, just so you can come back later and tell him all about it. And, well, perhaps heal a few people here and there.”

“Do you think he’d let me?”

“I know he’d let you.” 

“Did you ever study at a college?”

“Dunno.”

“Oh right...memory loss…”

“See? Study that for me, see if you can fix my brain somehow.” I smirk, glad he grins too. “Maybe give me a brain transplant!”

“I somehow don’t see that as being possible.”

“No. I’ve already changed my mind.”

“Was that a pun!?”

“Yes.”

“Rawa I’m here!” Vec shouts, catching both of our attentions. My eyes barely register him before I’m hauled into his arms again, my eyes becoming horizontal slats from the indignity.

“She looks so angry…” Prel laughs, genuinely this time. It’s a nice sound; like a bell ringing. He is just a kid, after all. They both are. One is just much bigger than the other.

“It’s okay! She’ll be happy once she’s brewing!” He holds up a bottle of ale, swinging it in front of my face. “Look what I swiped for you!”

“Okay, now I am much happier…” I snigger, patting his cheek. “Thanks for the booze.”

“My pleasure!” He crows, absolutely hauling ass back to the village. Prel follows behind him in a half run, taken by surprise with the quick pace. 

“Vec...slow down…!” Vec keeps running until we’re way ahead of Prel and almost to the village. I can see my hut gleaming in the distance, the multi-colored bottles shimmering like the scales of an exotic fish, calling me over. Perhaps it was the nostalgia, perhaps it’s the one thing that has remained constant, I’m not sure...but it’s comforting. If I ever did settle down somewhere, that’s what I’d do. Alchemy. Set up a shop maybe...or perhaps be a wandering healer. That might be fun; go where the injured take me. 

Vec stops suddenly, pausing right before he would need to step up onto the platform with my alchemy hut on it. He fidgets, looking down to me with hazel eyes, worry hiding behind his pupils.

“...What?” I call out. “Something on my nose? Did you lose Mr. Dragonfly?”

“Mr. Dragonfly flew away to go find a mate.” He said.

“Cael probably squished him on accident.”

“...No!” Vec says, upset. “He flew away!”

“He just told you that…!” I giggle.

“No!” He huffs, looking forward and pulling a frown. “Rawa, do you know a man with a wolf?”

“Man with a wolf? No. No I don’t. Why?”

“When I was getting the moonstone for your bracelet I met a guy...well...nevermind. It isn’t important.” He jumps up onto the platform, walking over to my hut and setting me gently on my bench. Prel reaches us at last, panting in the door frame, bracing himself on the side. Poor guy; he’s a scholar, not a fighter. 

“Well...here, I’ll make a list for you, Vec.” I pull out a slip of parchment, scratching in the things I need. My hand trembles as I try to resist putting down ‘dartwings’ at the top...instead I jot down what I actually need. Mountain flowers...lavender...dragon’s tongue...what else?

I look up to the mass of shelves about me, running my hand along the smooth bottles. I pick a few bottles of ingredients off the shelves, inspecting them. We need more elves ear...more nirnroot...I add them to the list, snapping off the piece of paper. I turn to Vec, pause, and turn back to my counter, writing locations the ingredients can be found at on the side. I hand it to him, waiting for him to need clarification for something. I know he will.

“Do I have to cut off their ears…!?”

“No...it’s a plant.” There it is. I take the paper back, drawing a small picture of a cluster of elves ears, handing it back to him without another word. “All good?”

“Yep! I’ll be back soon!” He grabs a few empty jars from beside my desk, packing them into his bag and walking off.

“So...now that he’s gone…” Prel’s finally gotten his breath back. “I’ll go get those books of yours.” He runs off too, returning with my books and a leather bound tome. Damn I took amazing notes. He sits in the spindly stool Vec usually inhabits, sitting next to me at my alchemy counter. Out of his bag he grabs a notebook of his own, with dog-eared parchment pages. It’s obvious he bought it from some shop for cheap; the forsworn don’t exactly get much spending money. It should serve him well, though. No mage ever did research bathed, primed, with fresh-pressed clothes and with the finest notebooks. It’s the odd ones who make do that push knowledge further.

“Rawa...your notes are so detailed…” He flips a page, looking at the pressed flowers I have. Under each petal I can see I’ve marked out the parts of the flower and what effects they have alone, and inked in underneath every attribute and legend I’ve found about the plant. Huh.

“Do you want to look through those first, or learn…?” I look over and he’s already enthralled by the pages, flipping them reverently. My books...no...his books are held lovingly in his lap, his hand squeezing the spines tightly as if they’ll disappear. If there’s one thing I do regret for my past life, it’s not having enough things in my bag. According to Vec, they went through my things, but most of the items they found inside were left in there. My clothes, lots of keys, scrolls, potions… all left behind in my pack in the Forsworn headquarters. They  _ did  _ however take things they deemed of value. My gold, the various gems I allegedly had, all my weapons… The books were apparently supposed to be left behind with the rest, but Vec swiped them because he thought the gold lettering was pretty.  _ The Aetherium Wars _ ,  _ Wind and Sand, Withershins _ ,  _ The Mirror…  _ all are stacked on his lap. Though a curious black book is slipped into the middle, no lettering on the sides. It’s ragged and worn, and bound from a thick heavy leather. It looks like it had been opened thousands of times; the book had pages skewed so they stuck out, they were ripped, ragged, folded in on themselves...I wonder what book it is? I certainly thumbed through it often; I can see ashes swept across the fore edge of the book. My hand reaches out to pull it from the stack.

I was about to grab it, but a certain Chieftain’s hand pulls my wrist back. 


	26. A Declaration and Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. And I'm sorry for that.

“I won’t stop you from reading it, but your conscience may not let you stay here if you do. It’s what you were running from before your fall.” He explains quickly, looking to Prel as he looks over and shift the books.

“Oh.” I reply, struck dumb. 

“Hello, Chief.” Prel ignores what’s happened with the tomes, looking up at Cael. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, you could say that…” He looks in my workshop, eyes settling on all the bottles, but it seems obvious he’s not interested in alchemy at the moment. Something is weighing on his mind...I can feel it. Whether or not it’s my business remains to be seen, however. 

“What did you need?” I look over at my poisons, looking to his bow. “Poison for arrows? Or did you want…?” He cuts me off before I can finish. 

“Prel…” He looks to the boy. “I’m sorry, I know you just got here, but can you give the two of us some privacy, please?”

“Just don’t break the tables…” He sighs, standing up and rolling his eyes, a small smirk on his face as he scampers off, taking the books with him. 

“What’d he mean?” I ask, looking to him. His face has flushed pink, though he’s obviously either unaware of it or ignoring me.

“N-Nothing…” He coughs, shaking his head. “He meant...uhh…”

Nope, I got it already. My face flashes into red, alerting him to my knowledge. He scratches his neck awkwardly, not saying anything as he just stares off at nothing, refusing to meet my gaze. That twerp...Prel…! That isn’t how this is at all...is it!?

“That isn’t...I didn’t...well...unless you…” He pauses, looking down. “I’m just going to shut up now…” I laugh at us both, standing up. His eyes widen as he wraps his arms around me, steadying me despite my legs staying strong. I lean forward into his grasp, kissing his nose lightly as I pull away, still feeling the heat from my cheeks. 

“What is it, Cael?” Once his name tumbles from my lips he perks up, pausing as his gaze settles on my face. He swallows some covert emotion back down, looking to me with confident eyes. Well, that’s certainly a nice face. He looks more like a chief now; shoulders squared, feet steadily under him, and his arms crossed in front of his body as he leans against the wall of the hut, looking down to little me, sitting on top of my counter. 

“Rawa...you’ve been here a while...and…” He pauses, eyes snapping to a source of noise from outside. He’s jumpy. What’s up? Something is on his mind, but apparently it isn’t too urgent; it’s something that needs to be kept private. And by the way he’s conducting himself...I’d wager he’s been rehearsing what he’s about to say to a tree for a few hours. “The forsworn have certain rules and traditions...and you’re as much a part of this village as the rest of us now.”

“When do I get the fiery temper and hair feathers?” I joke, brushing my untouched locks aside. None of the hair baubles the forsworn have stay in. It’s quite frustrating. “Hey, no need to tell me. Personally, I think I’ve been settling in quite well. You don’t need to hold my hand through socializing, Cael.” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him.

“That...isn’t it.” He looks to me, still contemplating whether or not to ask. Oh come on… 

“Quit being a coward and just say it, Cael. Sheesh, it’s not like I’m going to bite your arm off…” I lean back, smirking as I kick my legs, making him wince at me moving so much. 

“Rawa...stop doing that...you’re still injured…!”

“I told you. Two weeks and I’ll be back to jumping off cliffs and such.” I smirk. “I heal fast naturally, don’t worry. A few more days and I’ll even be off crutches! I...did a few favors for Stendarr, so he granted me a few small perks. Don’t worry your pretty little head over me.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” His mouth forms into a smile again, his eyes sparkling as he laughs at himself, bowing his head to look down to the ground. “Old Gods look down on me, I can’t do it.” 

“Oh come on, what is it? Sheesh. Did you murder Vec’s dragonfly?  _ I fucking knew it! _ He blames  _ me  _ for that, you know!” I cross my arms and legs, looking to him with the utmost of judgement. “Hey, I was telling you...if you had just gotten that jar, we could have just released it...and…”

“Rawa... I need someone who won’t swoon over my title, and who can have my back at a moment’s notice. I need someone I can love and someone who can love me back. Someone who can look after the village without me, and who can kick my ass back into gear when I start getting weak.” 

“Cael...what…?”

“Rawa...I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?” 

….

….

….

….

“Rawa…?” At my silence, he looks utterly crestfallen. His gaze falls to the ground, and his chest heaves without his knowledge. Stupid man…!

….

….

Fuck it. I jump off the counter, diving into his arms. He sighs in relief, and I can feel his heartbeat start to calm.

“Stupid man…!” I say again, my arms hugging his shoulders tightly. 

“Is that a yes…?” He calls out softly, patting my back. I’m not ready to speak yet, though. And I’m certainly not about to let him speak more. I look up, pressing myself to him and winding my fingers behind his neck, laughing in pure shock as I kiss this stupid Chieftain. As we’re still intertwined, he grabs my hands in his, slipping a familiar round object onto my left ring finger. He holds me tightly, fingers gripping into my back as if I might run. Knowing him and his fears, he probably thinks I will. My mind flickers back to the night we nearly spent together, and my face heats up at my longing. At the end of the night, neither of us had the energy to continue, and the following days had us both exhausted to the core when we did go to bed together. I’m more than ready to give myself to his belonging.

Spending the rest of my life here...I’d be okay with that. Besides, I think deep down, I never had any intention of leaving in the first place. Can I stay next to this man, protecting the village? Prel, Vec, Geia, Fai...all the other villagers… if it’s them, I’d be willing to go to the ends of Tamriel. Besides, if I’m not going to keep this chieftain in check, who will? I need someone to watch my back and so does he. I knew this was coming. In fact, I wanted it. My place in this world is here, beside this man. Rawa belongs  _ here _ . 

“It’s a yes.” I call out weakly, pulling away. “But Cael...why me…?”

“I’ve never seen a woman ever throw a bound sword and once she realizes it’s gone, 

punch her adversary full force.” He chuckles. “You’re the most intoxicating warrior I’ve ever seen.”

“Hmph. Explains how you get drunk so easily…” I tease, brushing the hair away from his eyes. 

“Do not!” He protests.

“Do too!”

“I don’t. I can hold my own.”

“Drinking contest.” I propose. He hesitates, I know he’s thinking it over carefully. Either have his honor destroyed by disregarding my challenge, or get destroyed in the contest itself. Ah well, we both know he’ll agree.

“Fine! But what do I get if I win?”

“We both know that isn’t likely. What do I get when I win?”

“I...don’t know. What do you want?” 

“Two bottles of Honningbrew.” 

“You want to win a drinking contest so you can drink more?”

“Honestly, if that doesn’t describe me as a person, I’m not sure you know me too well.”

“The sad thing is, I’m not even questioning it.” He sighs. “You’re on. But if I win...well…”

“On the off chance you win.” I scoff. “Why, what do you want?”

“A few hours with you at Purewater Run.” He looks away. “Alone.”

“Why there? I thought you hate the place?” My brain finally processes the request, reeling. 

My face flashes, my eyes widening. He hates that place.  “Wait...What!? You avoid that place like the plague...”

“I have my reasons...and no, I don’t hate it. I only hate something that happened there…” 

“What, slaughterfish bite your…?”

“Rawa!” He interrupts, face picturesque of a victim in shock. “Thankfully, no…” He pauses, pondering for a moment. “Though it was just as bad, in my opinion.”

“But has a slaughterfish bit your…?” 

“Still no…”

“Oh good.” 

“Why is that good!?”

“Is it bad!?”

“No? What!?”

“Just...shut up and tell me what happened there. Did you slip and fall on something that made you discover yourself, or…?”

“I’m not even going to ask what you’re implying, Rawa.” He leans back, bracing himself on the bookshelf. “And I’m not telling.”

“What, was it really so personal you can’t tell your fiancé?” 

“Yes.”

“And it has nothing to do with…?”

“No.”

“Right...well, I’m not about to lose...so...you…” My face overheats and I pause, covering my face with my hands again. We both break out laughing, no longer able to contain ourselves as I nearly burst into hysterics, picturing us awkwardly staring at each other, both bashfully unwilling to look at each other in the nude. It’d happen, and he knows it too. That one night was a fluke...our bodies were reacting and we...I don’t want to think about it here. He’d notice!

“Hey, I’ll have my courage by then…” He finally gets himself under control, taking my mouth again with a renewed passion, leaning me against my counter for leverage. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a small portion of me wanted to lose the contest...but it’d also involve losing, so I’m not just going to throw the drinking competition. Books slide out of the way, and the bottles clink together as they’re shoved to the side without a second thought. 

“What did I tell you!” A voice rings out nearby. I break away, much to Cael’s disapproval, and look to the source. Prel stands nearby, a box in his hands as he looks on us with shame. “Go back to your tents, dammit!”

“I’ll break the tables just for you!” Cael calls back, letting my bury my crimson face in his shoulder. “For once, you’re embarrassed and I’m not.” 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this…”

“Oh, right. You work with him.” He grips my waist, slowly working his hands down to my thighs. Now hey there, Chief...

“Shut up…!”

I look up as I hear a heavier set of footsteps approaching, worn and ragged from fatigue. A warrior, the one most loyal to Cael, sits in the door, panting. I break away from him and grab a bottle off the shelves, handing it to him.

“It’ll lessen your exhaustion.” I explain, letting him down it as I lead him to a stool. “Are you okay? Lightheaded? Or are you…?” He pushes my arm away gently, settling on the stool. He’s trying to keep himself together; he doesn’t want to look weak. The poor man is  falling apart at the seams, and refuses to show it. Unfortunately, that’s also a norm for forsworn warriors.

“Chieftain Treyarch…” He starts, taking a swig of my potion. “It...it is what we feared, Cael...he’s preparing for war.”

That phrase hangs in the air like something infectious, choking us both. Is that what they were preparing for? I figured it would just be for winter...or perhaps just to stockpile...but a war between chieftains? The forsworn agenda may be struggling after all...screw the Markarth book, there’s a more imminent threat about. What are we supposed to do? Fight against our own? Sit here and die?

“That...is unfortunate.” He pauses, his joyous face sobering into something more sad. So much for a joyous time after a proposal… Though it’s fine like this. We officially have each other, and I’ll be sure to protect this place. Briarheart or not, I have no qualms with slaying anyone who wishes to destroy this place. I may side with good...but I’m no pacifist. 

“Cael…” I look to him, scanning his face carefully. “Is it because of me?”

“No, It isn’t…” He pauses, looking to the warrior for him to confirm. 

He sighs. “Treyarch...is still angry he did not get to slay you. He intends to do it by his own hand, and take this peace-loving village with you. But he does not know you’re aware of who you are...” 

“He can come. I’ll kill him as soon as he gets on the horizon.” I sneer, glaring off out the door to the sunny planes. “If he wants to hurt this village, let him try. I’ll be sure to shout his ass to the deepest ring of Oblivion…”

“No, you will be here, protecting the children.” Cael condemns, shutting down my idea. “I’ll need someone to stay here as our final line of defense. That’s you.”

“You’re just saying that because of my legs…!” I lunge forward, eating my words as my knee cracks painfully. I pause, gritting my teeth and looking to him. “I’ll be fine soon!”

“Right. Then you can protect this place that much better.” He’s back from being a soft lover to the Chieftain. 

“Yeah yeah…” I can’t argue with him; not while the other warrior is here. “Where’s Vec? He left hours ago. Did you see him?”

“No, I didn’t see him.” The warrior says gruffly. I look from him to Cael, sighing and excusing myself from my own hut. “Perhaps he’s spending the night out there. You know how he is.”

“He may be...a bit...slow, but he can certainly take care of himself.” Cael assures me. 

“I’m going to go find him. The glorious bastard probably got stuck in a tree again.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Cael pauses, his gaze flickering to the ring on my finger, then to the warrior, as if waiting to test new waters. “I’m not about to let my injured fiancé anywhere when it’s getting dark. Perhaps when you can walk on your own…”

“If he isn’t home by morning…” I growl.

“Then we’ll find him.” Cael reassures me. I sigh, grabbing my crutches and swinging out the door. Stendarr better hurry up in healing me; I can’t take being this useless for much longer. Especially with these damn stairs in front of me… 

As soon as I’m out the door, the warrior already asked about the ring on my finger. Well, all forsworn like gossip, regardless of gender or age… so it’s only natural I suppose.

I look up the steps to the next platform, housing the long tables filled with food. I’m not hungry, but I can see Geia up there, eagerly looking to jump me for her next lessons. Damn these crutches. Damn these legs of mine… I’m sick of this. Okay, that sounds a bit ridiculous seeing as it's been two days, but sympathize with me here. I’ve never been hurt so bad I was rendered nearly immobile. Definitely never been so injured I needed to rely on others to help me. It’s embarrassing, but this is much better than being on my own in the wilderness. And yet I don’t want to wait for Cael to finish talking to the warrior to get back to the tent...

A discarded bottle sits at my feet, having rolled down the steps and miraculously survived its tumble. I stoop to pick it up, wincing at the pain in my bones as I barely grasp it by the neck, picking it up to haul it back to the long tables.

“Man, don’t you just feel... _ useless? _ ” A familiar voice rings out. I look to the bottle, seeing Pioth’s reflection glinting on the surface of the bottle. “Hello, Rowan.”

“Rawa.” I correct.

“Rowan. You’ve known your true name since the beginning, child. This life is a lie.”

“Lie? I’m getting married to a part of that ‘lie’. Should become truth well enough, right?” Black smoke erupts from the black bottle, and my eyes drift to his figure, poorly outlined by the smoke on the steps. Orbs gleam through the darkness, cutting the fog like small lighthouses as he stares with red coal eyes. 

“We both know the answer to that.” I shiver at his words, brushing him off.

“Unless you’re going to help me get up these stairs, fuck off.” I look up the stairs, slowly lifting my feet high enough to step up to each stair. Dammit...this is much harder than I anticipated…

“Rowan...we both know this isn’t you…” He grins wolfishly, looking at me with a hungry gaze. 

“Screw off, Pioth.” I reply, trudging up the stairs. “I’ll get up on my own.” Walking up the stairs to smite him and walking up the stairs to get there are two different situations. I walked that half mile on broken legs, and I’ll climb stairs on them too if it means showing up this utter asshat. Knowing he’s watching makes me ignore the pain and nearly bound up them, grunting once I get to the top and all the pain sets in. I don’t care. Only a few more days… a few more days… Dammit Stendarr, hurry it up! If you aren’t going to protect me from this red blob of taffy, at least heal me faster to make up for serving you so faithfully. If it really comes down to it, I’ll heal up with magic. There’s no way I’ll just sit around when the village is in danger, no matter the state of my health. 


	27. Something Something Meaningful Title

“Rawa!” Geia cries out, spotting me. She summons her dagger in the blink of an eye, pointing it at me with determination.

“Good…” I force a smile. She drops it to her side, letting it fade back into Oblivion. Geia turns on me in an instant, gently pushing me so I sit on the low wall, staring at me with such ferocity I’m stunned into silence. “Geia…?”

“What’s wrong!?” She barks, shaking my shoulders violently. I shudder at her touch, my eyes squeezing shut as I feel my body freeze. Her grip releases me and I totter backwards slowly, exhaling my bated breath and looking back up at her. “Rawa...I’m sorry...you…”

“I’m okay.” I chuckle awkwardly, scratching my neck. “Just didn’t expect to be jumped…”

“Ah…” She pauses, figuring it’s best not to pursue the subject further. “Okay. So...I practiced summoning the dagger...can we maybe move on?”

“Sure, sure.” I shake my head from side to side, snapping myself out of whatever rut I nearly slipped into. Pioth sits on top of a nearby tent, patiently staring at me with his weightless form. I’m going crazy. Absolutely crazy. What do I do?

I’ll figure that out later. For now, I have a girl to teach, a man to marry, and a battle to kick ass in. So what am I doing here…

“Ah...sorry...what did I say I’d teach you? Healing and candlelight?” 

“Yes...but why the weird combination?”

“Because they’re similar in nature. The two schools of Restoration and Alteration are pretty similar once you really get down to it; the healing and candlelight spells show it best. For example…” I bring my hand out, summoning a candlelight above my right shoulder, looking up to its shimmering light. “Do you know anything of Alteration?”

“Not really.”

“It’s manipulating the world around you to fit your ideals…” I pause, looking to the light. “I wanted a light, so I made it.”

“Right...so...how the hell is that close to healing?”

“Geia…” I sigh, but decide to give in. I raise my hand above my shoulder, swatting at the light and letting it stick to my fingers like wax. Once I’ve properly piqued her interest, I press a bit more magic into the light, and it gains its honey-colored tint and lets out a warm glow that healing spells do by nature.

“Oh.” 

“Yep.”

“So they’re kind of made of the same stuff, or…?”

“Scientifically, the light is coming from a steady stream of magic being let into this world by a mage. The light would technically be only a side effect; sort of like a flame with fire. A log doesn’t burn because it decides to; it’s from the log breaking down. Same with magic. Your magic is breaking down, and produces light as it releases its energy. So when you change the nature of that energy a bit… you can have it manifest itself and instead create instead of decompose.” 

“That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

“Try and summon a candlelight.” I say, crossing my arms. 

“Fine. I’ll do it without your science talk.” She decides, trying to press magic into her palm. She just ends up with a dagger instead.

“Wrong.”

“Shut up. I’ll show you.” We sit there for a few moments, and again, I see nothing. At least there’s no dagger. “Okay maybe I don’t get it…”

“Keep trying. It isn’t that hard.”

“It is for me…!” She whines. “Can’t we just skip it…? If I know enough destruction and conjuration, I won’t need to heal myself or get fancy magic armor…!”

“You may need to heal a friend, and let me tell you...Alteration is a hard school to learn. Though once you do, a mage can get through any environment with ease. Waterbreathing, transmuting iron to gold… the world’s basically your bitch.”

“Interesting way to put it.” 

“It’s true.”

“I don’t need Alteration. Move on to more destruction. Isn’t the next thing ice spikes…?”

“Until you get this, I’m not moving on…”

“Fine.” She turns back, trying to manifest some bit of magic. Instead of a ball of light, a lump of summoned...stuff falls into her palm, eerily smoking a greenish ink.

“That’s concerning…” I fire off a tiny spark from the tip of my finger, shattering whatever it was. “You know what? Here…” I look to the long table, mostly deserted by now. Only a few forsworn who are too wasted to notice there’s a child pickpocketing their belts sit around it, idly chatting drunken stories to each other. May as well…

I was never good at telekinesis, but by Oblivion I’m not walking over there. I focus on the candlestick sitting in the middle, slowly dragging it across the table by my magic, not caring as apples roll off or a bottle of ale spills. Still better than getting up.

It falls off the table, free floating as I focus still until the smooth silver candlestick is in my grasp, and with a triumphant grin and an exhausted sigh, I twist off one of the candles, pressing it into the palm of my star struck student.

“What the…!?”

“Telekinesis. Also in the school of Alteration.” I look to the candlestick in my hand, noting at how light it is. “Takes a lot out of you, though…” 

“Why am I holding a candle?”

“You know the firebolt spell. Now I want you to light that candle without touching the wick. Keep it on your palms and use your magic to manifest magic there and spark it.” I hold one of the other candles in my hand, pausing before sparking the wick into life. Just to show off, I flash a bit of ice magic at the flame, extinguishing it again without lifting a finger. 

“Rawa I…” She looks to the candle, manifesting some magic and taking a chunk out of the candle. “...don’t know if I can do this.” She concludes.

“I’m sure you can.” I smile, looking down to her attempts.

“Rawa...you aren’t okay, are you?” Geia looks up at me, chewing on her lower lip in silence. 

“I’m fine.” I conclude, dismissing the thought with a quick hand gesture. “Can you light it?”

“Don’t bullshit me Rawa...what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I’m just frustrated with these damn legs of mine.”

“Didn’t you fall off a cliff? You should be thanking the divines for sparing you, not damning them for making you wait till your legs heal.” She says simply, blasting another part of the wick off.

_ Well, the divines didn’t spare me...they wanted to kill me.  _ My mouth nearly opens to say those words, but I immediately clamp my lips shut. I want to tell someone; let them know about what’s happened to me. But I’m too scared. I’d be labelled as dangerous...maybe ran out...or even given to the hagravens to experiment with so they could ‘cleanse’ me.  _ A daedra pulled me back from hell...he’s the reason I’m healing so fast…! _

“Yes, that’s true.” I nod slowly. “You’re wise...for a kid.” I chuckle.

“Bite me!” She snaps, glaring up at me. As if by some sort of ironic twist, her outburst gives her the control needed to ignite the wick, burning it slowly in her palm. Damn. “I did it! Rawa!”

“I can see that…” I pause. “Now try the candlelight.” She goes to argue, but instead shuts her eyes and does as she’s told. A friendly little light appears above her left shoulder, twirling around her head slowly before settling just above her left ear. “Look now.”

“It’s so cute…” She reaches out to touch it, recoiling her hand as soon as she makes contact. “It’s warm!”

“Now try what I did.” She copies me, swiping her fingers and feeling the ball of light magically attach to her digits. 

“Now you’re going to want to change the frequency of your magic to a healing one; think warm and constructive.” I instruct, watching her obey. The candlelight turns golden, and even from where I am I can feel the pleasant energy. I was right...she’ll be an amazing mage.

“Look…!” She says, amazed as she holds it over a bruise she had on her arm, watching it disappear in wonder.

“That  _ is  _ how healing works…” I roll my eyes at her, feeling her glare at me with hooded eyes. 

“How about we skip ice spikes…?” I ask, looking to how well she’s healing. It’s matching my own healing spell in terms of magnitude; with that amount of manipulation, she…

“And do what instead?”

“I want to see if you can generate lightning.” I let the proposition linger, seeing her eyes widen.

“Do you think I could do it!?”

“You have such a raw amount of magic, I think shock may be the better destruction path for you…” I look her over. “We’re going to need to go a ways away, though. If you struck anything around here, It’d be disastrous.”

“I’ll go tell Cael where we’re going!” She leaps to her feet, running off in excitement. Now then...time for a bit of bargaining. I’m alone here, the only thing around me is the tents. Everyone has finally moved away from the living area, shooed away by a particularly stocky forsworn woman armed with a broom. Personally, I’ve learned to fear that broom more than a warrior’s sword; it’s twice as fast.

“Pioth.” I repeat, looking out into the expanse of tents. Cael’s sits a few rows back, and hopefully he’s not in there. I don’t know how good his senses are, but he’s very in tune with everything going on around him. Knowing my luck, he’d hear me.

“Yes, Rowan?” He smirks, appearing before me in a puff of smoke. The sun dims at his presence, showing he’s gaining more power.  _ My  _ power. “Oh, my mistake... _ Rawa _ .”

“Taunting me will get you nowhere.” I hang my head. “I need help.”

“With what, girl?” 

“You’re healing me slowly, correct?”

“Nice observation, Rowan.” He chuckles. “What do you wish?”

“Heal me faster...enough so I can walk without these crutches…!” I motion to the instruments I’ve come to hate, bitterly grinding my teeth as I look to the handles. 

“You want to use my power, even though you’re aware what it’s doing to you?” His face contorts into a ecstatic smile, and a black aura emanates from around him, like coal burning out of his pores. 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I need to protect this village and-” He interrupts me before I can speak, snapping and commanding my silence.

“Killing yourself won’t stop me, Rowan.” He says with a smirk, reading my mind. 

“Well damn, just dash my hopes there.” I snicker, leaning back. “You going to fix my appendages or not?” 

“I suppose I will...consider it a gift for outsmarting me after your fall.” He chuckles himself, amused at my reaction. “I never thought a human could outwit me like that.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it pal. You’re taking up space in my head, but I intend to charge rent.” 

“We’ll see how long that confident side of you lasts…” He purrs, sensing Geia coming back. With nothing more to say he disappears, and a shudder tunnels down my spine as I feel him return back into my soul. 

“Cael said to just be back by dark!” She says excitedly. “Let’s go a bit North...it’s more open!”

“Alright.” I pause, feeling the tingling in my legs dissipate. Pioth...thanks.      

_ “What is it you humans reply to that with? Ah yes. You’re welcome, Child.” _

Get out of my head. These are my thoughts, not yours.

_ “Side effect of my occupation here.” _

Fuck you.

“So…” I stand, surprising Geia with how sturdy my legs are under me. “Where are we going?”

“Rawa...your legs…!”

“Yes, yes. There’s no way I can run, but I can handle walking slowly.” I pause. “Stendarr is healing me. It’s a Dragonborn perk, as I understand it.” I lie.

“Oh...okay.” She blinks for a few seconds, before shaking her head and pressing onward. I follow her quietly, looking amongst the rows upon rows of lean-to tents that we wander through before reaching the edge of the village. I step onto the grassy plain, looking out over the horizon to the North, feeling the chill of something happening in that direction. Treyarch was preparing for war, no doubt…

“Rawa, do you like it here?” She asks suddenly, returning to my side.  
“Yes.” I reply without thinking. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You just look...upset. And after nearly two months here...you know...” She says, looking to the ring on my finger. “And you’re even going to…”

“Oh, I’m plenty happy about that.” I giggle. “I’m just wondering where the hell Vec is! He didn’t come home last night, and he still isn’t here!”

“Ah! Vec...man, he gets lost easily. He once accidentally went all the way to Falkreath when we asked him to go hunting.” She shakes her head, a smile on her lips. “He’s a bit like a stupid, lovable little brother for everyone, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand that feeling.” I look over to her slender shoulders, placing my outstretched head onto her hair and patting the top of her head. “You guys know I love you, right?” 

“It’s obvious, ya old hag!” She bats my hand away, whirling on me, her hair a whirl of brown and colorful beads as her hair shifts. 

“I know, I know…” I pause. “I just wish I could do more around here…” She stiffens, eyes glaring as she stares ahead.

“Quit acting like you’re gonna die every three seconds! We’re all fine!”

“What?” I blink, taken aback by her sudden ferocity. I feel my chest freeze as my neck locks into place, and I force a nervous laugh to break some tension. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a forsworn! Chin up, chest out, you’re a Reachman!” She pokes me in the stomach, forcing me to recoil. “Lookin’ around like you’re broken or something… who do you think you are? Rawa? Or some little girl? We survive fine without your help, ”

“Getting a pep talk from my student…” I pause, looking over to her. I try to bring light to my tired eyes, but Pioth denies me that energy. “I understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it affected you-”

“Don’t apologize, dammit!” She shrieks, and I cackle with all my strength. That breaks her out of her mean streak, making  _ her  _ step back this time. “What in Oblivion is wrong with you!?”

“Right, right…” I shake my head violently, looking out into the plains with a renewed vigor. I  _ have  _ been feeling sorry for myself lately, haven’t I? Just sitting around, waiting for my memories to come back like a homesick amnesiac! My legs? Screw it! This body can break for all I care! Who am I? I don’t know. But fuck it, let’s fake it ‘till we make it! Move over apathy, we have things to do and you’re in the way. Pioth, you’re in my soul, and I intend to collect early on that rent. Try taking me down- hit me with your best shot! “You’re correct, Geia.” I glower, the smirk winding its way across my face. Why do I care if I can’t remember anything!? I’m a Dragonborn, that’s all I need to know! 

A few words, and the entire world is in flames! I’m not going to pushed around by Treyarch. What, some scared little warrior wanted a quick way to get strength, so he let someone scoop out his heart and replace it with an artichoke looking pinecone, and  _ that’s  _ the man I choose to fear!? And much less, I’m taking what Cael’s saying like he’s a divine. Sure, I’m marrying the man, but damn if I’m going to sit behind with the kiddies and babysit while he gets to have all the fun! 

Pioth rumbles in my core, voicing his agreeance, and in that split moment, he meshed a bit more with my soul. 

 

I̝̪͇̱̗͢ͅ ̲t̹̭͇̥h̞̥̪̯̰̭̗į̯͖̞͍̩̬n̝̤̲̪͞k ̮I͈̦͍̞͎̞͕ ̡̜̦̫̗̣m̝̟̰a̱y̡͔̣͚̭̭̖͈ ̗b̴͔͔e̳̘̦̤ ̨̦̝ͅǵ̹̠ͅo̪͢i͏n̖̭̠̰̘̫͜g͠ ̮͞a͓̪̩͍͍̮̮͝ ̯̞̝̬̟̼̼b̪͔̥͚̳͎it̤͖͓͈̬ ̝͇͖͔̻̀m̵̞̗̗̤̘a̸͓̜̜ḓ̹̞̺͖̪́!̜̖̬

 

“No, no, I’m fine.” I say, looking back to Geia.

“I...didn’t ask…” She pauses, looking back to me.

“You didn’t?” I pause, shaking my head. “Eh, I need a nap. I’m tired.”

“Ah…” She pauses. “Do you think this is far enough?” I look around, seeing nothing but bare rock and scraggly grass all around us. In my internal power struggle I hadn’t even noticed how far we had gone.

“Yeah, definitely.” I look to her, eyes flickering as I struggle to keep focus. I shake my head again, collecting my thoughts and looking back to her. “Do you know how to ward?”

“It’s the one thing I was taught by the shamans. Every forsworn can!” She summons a strong magic shield that encompasses her entire figure, safely protecting her behind it.

“Vec couldn’t.”

“Yeah but he’s from…” Her eyes widen. “Nevermind.”

“I understand. Anyway, I want you to ward.” I wait patiently, looking over to a spindly tree a dozen paces to our left. She does as she’s told, holding the ward firmly and looking at me with defiance, willing me to strike. Don’t mind if I do.

“Destruction magic isn’t my main school, but I understand it enough to explain it to you. Fire magic is the same concept of you lighting the candle; causing combustion with a burst of magic. Ice is a different nature, slowing down the magic until it ‘freezes’, even if you’re in the desert. But electricity...it’s a different thing entirely. It’s raw magic that you stretch out, ‘conducting’ it. For example…” I summon a swirling ball of lightning, channeling it so that it rushes towards Geia, frying the outer layer of the ward. I keep it there for a few seconds before extending the current to the tree, blackening the bark before letting everything dissipate. 

“Wow…” She pauses. “And I’ll be able to do that!?”

“Possibly even better than I can. You have a huge magic reservoir, so this would be your best bet for the most damage. Ice and Fire both have a limit to just how much magic you can push into the spells before it starts to hurt you as well, but electricity is limitless.”

“Huh. So how do I…?”

“Step one is to get yourself  _ amped  _ up-!” She throws a rock at me. 

“No puns!”

“I’m sorry!” I laugh, catching it. “Alright, I’ll be sure to  _ conduct  _ myself properly…” 

“Rawa…!” She hisses.

“Okay, okay…” I look to her, letting her drop the ward. I pull up one of my own, seeing the glossy dome form itself in front of me. “Like I told you, think of how you summon fire, but instead of bursting it, just let it flow.”

A few seconds pass. Nothing. Another few seconds, and all I hear is a small spark and a fizzle.

“Looks like we have some work to do…”


	28. Bringing up the Rear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is a bit short, but hopefully you like it anyway!

“Rawa, it’s getting dark.” She says apprehensively.

“One more time.” I ward, looking to all the burn marks on the ground. She’s failed. This is the first thing she hasn’t gotten within a few minutes; it’s been hours at this rate. We’ll have to try again tomorrow…

“Okay…” She says, unsure. I know she’s tired, but really...she needs to know this. Geia has so much raw, unbridled power, it’d be a waste to never teach her how to control it. At first she hesitates, looking to my ward and then to the tree; she’s been trying. But it isn’t enough.

Some sparks lazily shoot out, but it’s not one continuous stream; instead, the sparks burst into flames mid-air, recoiling and forcing her own arm back. She summons a ward before the explosion reaches her, wincing at the rippling flames.

“Well...nevermind.” I sigh, dropping my ward. “We’ll try again sometime soon. Go ahead and start back to the village.” I turn to walk east, towards where I sent Vec. I hope he’s alright…!

“You aren’t coming with me?” She pauses, looking to me, then to the direction of the village. “Rawa…!”

“I’m just going to go find Vec.” 

“But Cael said…!”

“I’m going to find Vec.” I turn my head to her, looking over my own shoulder. “Tell Cael that. There’s no way you can force me, right?” 

“I guess...but Rawa...be careful. You don’t know what’s lurking around here at dark…” She looks nervously to the retreating sun, then to me, and runs off, sprinting towards the village.

_ Little does she know… _

“What?”

_ Nothing. Foreshadowing. _

“The hell, Pioth?”

_ Are you looking for your companion? _

“Yep.”

_ Try the outcropping north from here. _

“I didn’t tell him to-”

_ Trust me, child… _

“Whatever.” I turn the way Pioth directs me, slowly walking to my destination. The light retreats from the land, shoving the plains into a pale twilight that seems more sinister than everywhere else. There’s nothing obstructing the sunlight; it floods everything on the left side of me, and the right is filled with long, stretching shadows that extend from every elevated piece on the flats. “Couldn’t you have healed my legs fully…?”

_ Your lies can only extend so far, Rowan… _ He warns.  _ You associate with other liars. They know the trade well. _

“What is it with you and cryptic messages!? And where the hell are you?”

He doesn’t respond with that.

…

“Vec!” I yell, pausing to listen. The air is way too still for the plains; like everything’s stopped. A few moments pass and I realize the silence is from my own doing. How the hell…?

_ Your instinct, Rowan.  _

“Shut the hell up.”

_ They’re going to return, Rowan. _

“Shut. Up.”

_ You’re going to marry that man, and then they’ll return. _

S̨̢͇̰͖͛ͯ̅͢H̸̗͖̥̱̯̑͒̂͢͢U̵̻̙̤̺̗͔ͨͥ͛̔͋ͬ̋͝T͈̬͇̼̞̋ͧ̋͆̀̚ ͥ̂̇ͯ̊͜͏̘̥Ů̸̘̻̟̗̠̖̲͈ͥ̚P̶̯̟͍̘̞̼ͯ͑͛́͆̆͑

 

 _Funny. Was that me?_ _I don’t think so…_

“That was...me.” I blink in recognition, freezing as I mull that over. Then, out of the silence, comes a little cry for help. My face snaps to its source, and I release my breath, squinting to see farther. A distance away there sits a lone, scraggly oak tree, no longer bearing leaves. It’s dead. I can see that much from here. A sabre cat sits under the tree, looking up into its branches. And up on the limbs I spy...Vec. He holds a torch that’s gone out, angling it downwards as if to defend himself. Maybe I should give him lessons too…I raise a knee, pushing off with my ankle and shout, a smirk plastered to my face. 

**“WULD...NAH KEST!”**

I nearly fall over as I hit ground again, my knees straining under the sudden drop. I stumble slightly, pressing forward and groaning as I feel pain right under my patella. It served it’s purpose, but damn. That hurt.

I summon a bow, pressing two fingers to my bottom lip and whistling, splitting the air with a high pitched scream. The sabre cat leaps to its feet, teeth snarling as it looks to me with its amber eyes, finding me a worthy opponent. I nock an arrow, noting the coldness my conjuration spells seem to carry now. Thanks, Pioth. Go shove Meridia’s beacon up your ass. It belongs in the trash, so you may as well make some use of it. And while you’re at it, try sticking Molag Bal’s mace up there too.

_ Rude. _

“Rawa!” Vec screams, waving his hands frantically. The idiot forgot he needs to hold on to the branch, because once he draws his hand away he tumbles down the oak tree further, catching a low branch. The sabre cat snips at his heels, tugging off his mocassin and making him scream ten times louder than he already was.

“You sound like a frog being squished!” I yelp, pulling the bowstring to my face and spearing the sabre cat under the chin. 

“Oh! It’s dead!” Vec notices, immediately shutting his megaphone of a face and jumping out of the tree. “Rawa! You saved me!”

“Yeah. Glad I came to look for you, or you would have spent the night.” I grin, patting my companion on the head. 

“That was night two!”

“...You’re serious.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I couldn’t make friends with it.” He admits sadly, looking down to the ground. I groan internally, smacking myself on the head for my idiot’s incompetence. It’s too much.

“Did you get the ingredients?”

“...Yes!”

“Vec?”

“...Only a few.”

“Right. Well all that matters is that you’re breathing.” I sigh, smoothing my hair back. Night’s fallen; the sun has disappeared into a pinkish smudge along the horizon. So much for being back before dark. I take Vec’s torch and light it with a spark, handing it back to him and staring into the crackling flames. Do we camp out here? I guess not; the village isn’t too far. I tug us towards home, looking around in the light of the torch. This place seems so much more natural at night; a familiar silence that seems to ensnare the land primordially. The Reach...it seems so much older than what I can remember of the rest of Skyrim. Perhaps the forsworn keeping it pristine has attributed to that? I want to know more.

I stare at a small lily blooming in a crevice, faintly glowing. I wonder if it’s related to the nirnroot? I grab a vial, bending down and plucking one of the flowers off at the stem, gently putting it back into the glass tube. I’ll experiment on it further once I’m back at the lab. I’ve never seen this kind of flower before…

“Rawa?” Vec mumbles. 

“Yes, Vec?” I’m exhausted and frankly ready for a nap. My eyes wander up from the flower to the figures before us. They must have been hiding behind the nearby hill. “Well shit. If you told me there was a party, I would have brought some chips or something.” Vec looks to me, a bit unnerved with my sudden personality change. But it feels so...right. Like an alcoholic purchasing an entire keg of mead, only to drink the entire thing later.

“Dragonborn.” The front one said, stepping forward and heaving a chipped battleaxe onto his shoulder.

“Do you want me to call you...Humanborn? The hell man? I have a name.” I put Vec in a headlock, nearly tossing him to the small rock beside us. “ _ In their tongue he is a foolish man...Humanborn _ !” 

Damn that was awful. Apparently I need to work on my insults.

“You know of who you are, then.”

“Fuck. You got me.” I say without flinching. “What, going to go run to ol’ pinecone heart? How adorable. Forsworn warriors, turning tail and running from the crippled, dragon. Pathetic. Won’t face me yourselves? Where’s the honor in that?”

I see his jaw clench at my words, and his grip squeezes a bit tighter on the leather wrapped handle.

“Rawa...what are you doing…!?” Vec hisses from the shadow of the rock.

“Not running, that’s what.” Fire bursts from my palms, lazily snaking around my wrists in a figure eight. “My name is Rawa. I am something called Dragonborn. And I’m actually pretty badass, if I do say so myself. You want to all fight me at once? Come on; I’ll gladly match you.”

“You either come with us as a prisoner, or die a free woman. Your choice,  _ pet _ .”

“Wow. I wonder.” I blink awkwardly. “Did you hear the whole badass part, or do I need to repeat myself?”

“Rawa, what’s wrong with you!? You’re actually funny!”

“...You’ll get your  _ pun _ ishment once we get back.” I look over to the six men, fingers itching with fire. 

“Wow. Back to being terrible” He blinks awkwardly. I look back to the men, slowly spreading in front of me to a semi-circle. That’s pretty lame. 

“Keep talking and I’ll make you  _ tear _ ible.”

“I’ll shut up now.”

“Going to attack me all at once?” I jeer, bowing comically and pretending to survey them over. I wonder how much magic I have? It feels like a full tank in the ol’ Rawa, but considering how much mage work I was doing with Geia I may not want to risk it. Eh, but then again...it’s only me and Vec. If there was a time to take risks, it’d be now. I let the fire fade, raising my arms at a ninety degree angle as if surrendering, palms out. Vec can’t fight; I’ll protect the both of us.

“And she surrenders.” A woman warrior scoffs.

“Oh, is that what you think this is?” I snort, tilting my head. “To me, it’s a declaration of war.” Two balls of purplish mist form on my hands, and I drop them suddenly. They explode on the ground, summoning two atronachs to my aid. You can do these kinds of things when you’re Dragonborn and a bit of a total rebel. Single summons be damned. 

“She fights!” Another screeches, drawing a bow and nocking an arrow. I make small finger guns with my hands, smirking at just how stupid this is. A fitting end for these people. I jokingly fake the recoil as a fireball screams at the forsworn, hitting them square in the torso and engulfing them in fire. I hear one of my atronachs go down, but that’s fine.

“You put the ‘lame’ in ‘flame’.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure Treyarch made me out like some little barmaid, scared of violence and cowering behind the Chieftain. Quite the opposite. I may be on the side of good, but don’t think for a second I’m against killing hopeless scum like you.” I summon my twin blades, stopping an arrow and throwing it into the sternum of the nearby woman. “I won’t be very  _ knife  _ to you people...oh wait...I will!”

“Rawa that one was bad.” 

“Aw, I thought it was really  _ cleaver. _ ” Three still stand, and within the moment one falls from my second atronach. Its time runs out, and the two of them flop over onto each other, the sickly sizzle making my skin crawl. I’ll hear that in my nightmares...I know it. 

I toss the other sword at one of the last ones, slightly pressured by how close they’ve gotten. The forsworn bats it aside with his sword, looking to me with a yellow-toothed grin. Someone give this man some dental floss and a breath mint. I stumble backwards, summoning a fireball and breaking it on his face inches away from me; a very bad decision for the both of us. I recognize the danger and ward my vitals, but the explosion sends my vision for a loop as I try and blink out the white spots on my eyeballs, grasping out for something. There’s still one more… I need to see him...

I summon two swords, swinging wildly at any shadow I see on my vision, but I whiff through nothing but air. I’m sure he has a battleaxe above my head...I’m sure I’m dead…!

Ker-thunk. I hear his body hit the soft earth with a mossy thump, earning a squint and a 

confused grunt from me.  

“Rawa!” Vec runs out, hugging me tightly. My arms wrap around his shoulders, patting his back until he quits shaking. “We almost died!”

“No we didn’t.” I brush his hair with my fingers, parting and looking to the last man. How had he died? He lays on the ground parallel to me, a forsworn arrow protruding from his back. One that was just made, and...oh shit.

“Rawa!” I hear a voice snap, shaking me from my curiosity. Cael slings his bow over his back, swearing softly and marching up to us, taking me by the arm and tearing me away from Vec’s side. 

“Sup.” I can see he’s silently fuming. He isn’t the type to raise his voice, but he’s tempted to now; his jaw is clenched and he’s shaking despite trying to hide it. “We’re fine. You saved us. We’re okay.”

“I know, but I told you to be back before dark and Geia-!” He shakes his head, composing himself. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“Our poor little Vec got stuck in a tree. I wasn’t about to call the fire department, was I?”

“Rawa, you’re injured! And you even left your crutches!” He fumes, shaking his head slowly. “I could have sent someone…!”

“And yet it seems like that would have been too late.” I look to the dead forsworn. “And by the way, I can walk fine without the crutches.” My eyes fall to the one Cael shot, oddly propped up on the ground, even if it was just slightly. Sure, Cael shot him in the back and he fell forward, but… I’m also not stupid enough to miss the steel pointed arrow jutting out from just under his front, probably snapped in half.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman…” He sighs, sweeping me into his grasp and letting me rest my head on his shoulder.

“Doubt it.” I scoff, returning the hug. “How’d you know where to find us?”

“I could see the flash of the fireballs almost from the village.” He takes my hands in his, running his thumbs over the back of my palms. “You are a scary woman.”

“Me? Nah…!” I snort, turning to Vec. “Wonder if they have any food left?”

…

I wake up the next morning intertwined with Cael, rudely interrupted by someone stepping near the tent. Can never shake off the instincts, it seems. Ah well. The last few nights have been interesting; Cael is just as defensive as he was when Bishop infiltrated the village; his grip on me never wavers even in his dreams. 

“Let go…” I mutter, wiggling. I  _ really  _ need to pee right now.

“No…” He mumbles in his dreams, his grip tightening. “Not her…”

“Yes me, now let go…” I duck from his grasp, slinging his arm over my shoulder and sliding off the bed. In an instant he’s awake, sitting straight up and eyes alert.

“Rawa!” He looks to me, slumping a bit and hanging his head, shaking it. “Gods…”

“Sorry…” I stand, looking down at him. We both look away, rubbing our heads and figuring out how to approach this delicately. Fuck it, I’ll go first. “Nightmare?”

“Yes.” 

“Treyarch?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” I look down, shutting my eyes and remembering the angry chieftain. The guy was like a bad villain from some half-priced book a khajit sells. “It’ll be okay, Cael. We’re preparing as fast as we can, and the whole village stands behind you.”

“It’s my job to worry…” He grumbles, standing up and tugging on his kilt. He reaches over for his paint; I hate that stuff. It makes him look like a corpse.

“Come on, Chief. No warpaint today.” I groan, rolling my eyes.

“It’s to reduce glare, Rawa. Not fashion.”

“Cael, it’s cloudy outside.”

“...No warpaint it is.”

“There we go. It really isn’t flattering on anybody. It makes that handsome face of yours seem so hollow.” I take him by the hand, trying to tug him outside. Instead, I’m met with an adamant tug back, and he watches my face, eyes partly closed. “...Cael?”

He tugs me to him, taut fingers clutching at my body as he stares into my face, eyes still tired despite the night’s sleep. It’s been like this for days… between Treyarch’s war declaration and the warriors that came to get me, he’s had a lot on his mind. The only thing I can do is sit next to him and listen to it all, and perhaps throw in some advice every once in awhile. It isn’t enough to calm his fears.

His hand drags along my jaw, brushing my hair back to behind my shoulders. I stare into his eyes, my eyebrows raised and a content smirk on my face, waiting. Ah, screw it. I push forward, past his grip, and take his lips with mine. His fingers find my hands, pulling me closer to him and letting him grip my waist, giving me an opening to wrap my arms around his shoulders as we kiss. Stendarr, protect this damn man. He’s too kind for his own good. We linger, breathless, wishing we could stay here; but we both could feel it. The forsworn briarheart had arrived. 

Warriors can feel danger before the first warning siren; in this case, it hit both of us like a tidal wave. He would reach here soon, today, and we’ll face him. However...this time, the outcome is unpredictable. He has the more militaristic background and more warriors, we know the immediate land and have better trained warriors. It’s dead even. And that terrifies me.

I walk outside, looking out into the plains. It’s a beautiful day; too bad it’ll soon be tainted with the coppery veil of battle. The sun gleams like a newly minted septim, making the world seem much more cheery than it actually is. Butterflies slowly loop within each other on the plains, spiraling back down to earth to rest their fragile wings. A dartwing flies near Vec’s tent, landing on his forehead periodically and rising again once his snores scare the poor insect off. I wonder if that’s the same one. Nah...that’s crazy.

“Your legs are…?” Cael walks behind me, settling a hand on my waist as he leans my weight on to him. 

“Healing. I can’t sprint too far, but they’re not going to let me run to Sovngarde just yet.”  

“And who do you attribute that to?”

“Stendarr.” I lie.

“Ah.” He leaves it at that. “I still want you-”

“In the back. I know.” I smirk. “But I’ll be bringing up the rear, not waiting around.”

“Rawa, I don’t want you to...you know…”

“Bring up the rear?” I grin, pinching his butt playfully as he yelps and jumps forward. “Got ya!”

“Rawa! We’re being serious here…!” He looks out into the village, whirling around to face me, his shaggy hair hanging down. Pink cheeks suit him. 

“I’m being serious! You’ll see how scary I can be, Cael.” I smirk, circling him slowly, eyes on his rear end. 

“Hey...wait a minute…” He instinctively circles too, narrowing his eyes at me. “I’m not going to lose this, Rawa…”

“Oh yes you are!” I crow, making my hands like the pincers of a mudcrab, snapping greedily at air. “I’ll get you!”

“Not if I poke you first…” He smirks calmly, watching my hips as we dare each other to snap. I grin evilly, looking into his face for any weakness. The chieftain is as adamant as ever! A smart, steely gaze that doesn’t give away what he’s thinking. A hardened body, littered with muscle memory of combat. Chieftain Cael. 

Fuck it! I twist forward, lunging as far as I can with a quick snip of my fingers. I just miss the feather on his belt, and out of the corner of my eye I see his hand twisting towards my behind. No can do, Chief! I catch his wrist with my other hand, contorting myself so we’re facing again.

“Damn! Thought I got you!”

“Gotta be quicker than that, Chief!” I call, circling again. His hand grazes against my thighs, and I stamp over it in panic, tipping forward in surprise and using the motion to quickly grab and squeeze Cael’s rear. Victory is squishy. “I win!”

“That was a weird game.”

“And yet, strangely satisfying.” I smugly admit. “Now then, shall we-”

My blood froze as we heard the cries of alarm from below us, piercing the thin veil of ignorance we had just established. 


	29. So much at Stake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, the title *is* a pun this time. You'll see.

Cael was the one to speak first, grabbing my wrist so I stare into his eyes. We linger, his mouth slightly open, pausing in the strengthening light. 

“Rawa.” He closes his eyes, looking to the ground. “Be safe.” 

“Kind of hard to do in combat.” I push my fear down, instead displaying a smirk. “Don’t worry about me; you just worry about your own ass. I grabbed it so easily, I’m a bit worried.”

“That’s because it was you…” He grabs his bow from inside the tent, stringing the arrow on the sturdy recurve with ease. “I am Chieftain, after all. I won’t fall until this village does.” 

“And since I’ll be here protecting it… I don’t see that happening.” I walk over to the dresser, tugging open one of the drawers and pulling out the item inside. I had been making it in secret, but now was a good time to give it to him. A small vial pouch, with rings of leather on the side to house the bottles sits in my hand, and I turn to him, hooking it on his kilt. I dig into my own pack, picking fifteen or so potions of varying effects, walking back over to him. “Give them oblivion, Cael.”

“I will.” He plants a kiss on my mouth as I tuck the vials into the pouch. 

“Red is restoration, green is stamina, the smaller ones are marksman, maroon is resist poison…” He pushes my hair away from my eyes, looking to me with a soft gaze. 

“I remember, Rawa.”

“...Right.” I stand up again, fixing his quiver and settling it back on his waist. The warriors had all gathered at the bottom platform, waiting. “Go. I’ll get the children and Vec.”

“Take Prel and Geia too. And Rawa...I leave it to you.” He gives me a quick peck to the cheek, grabbing my hand. “I love you.”

“And I you. Stupid man, go!” I push him towards the stairs, dipping into a comical bow as he departs. I pivot on my feet and skulk down the row of tents. Now for my end of the bargain. Where would Prel be? With the books. Where would Vec be? Probably still asleep. And the kids…

A tug at my waist indicates where they are.

“Rawa!” One croaks, and I reach down and pick up the little boy. 

“It’s okay.” I soothe, patting his back. “It’ll be alright.”

“Rawa-!” Vec screams, racing over to us. “What’s happening!? Mr. Dragonfly ran off!”

“It’s a dartwing and thus doesn’t have legs, and the village is under attack.”

“By who!?” 

“I don’t know.” I lie. 

“Rawa, take these books!” Prel ducks out from behind a tent, all of the books cradled in his arms. 

“I...hold on.” I look around. **“Laas!”**

“What is that!?” Vec screeches. 

“Rawa, I need to go fight! Take the books!” Prel tries to shove them into my arms, but I clamp one of my hands around his crown, pressing him down into submission.

“No.” The red specks come from all sides, surrounding us in a circle. I can see our forsworn in a friendly blue along the eastern side, battling the main force with everything they have. One is Cael; I can tell by the bottle he brings from his thigh to his lips. He seems okay...for now. “They’re everywhere. Everyone...get to the huts!”

“Okay!” Vec picks up a few of the smaller kids who had congregated to me, and runs off down the stairs to my hut. The rest follow behind him, leaving me with Prel and Geia. 

“Go.” I command, narrowing my eyes.

“I’m going to go join the other adults.” Prel says adamantly.

“As am I.” Geia crosses her arms. “You taught me for a reason, Rawa.” 

“Go!” I bark, making the two of them flinch. “You aren’t adults! And by the Gods I’m not going to let you two die when I said I’d protect you!”

“You can’t keep us here! We want to help!” Geia screams with equal ferocity. 

“So make sure none of these fuckers get to the rest of the kids, dammit!” I point to the hut, where I can see Vec’s figure blocking the doorway. Good boy.

“You can’t make us go down, Rawa!” Prel backs her up.

“You don’t think I can!?” I push forward, grabbing both of them by the waist, hauling them up onto my shoulders. “I think I can!”

“Rawa-!” Geia yelps, trying to shuffle out of my grasp. My forearm clamps around her torso. 

“Resistance is futile.” I walk as fast as I can down the steps, depositing the two on their asses at the door. “Get in. You’re still kids. This isn’t your fight.”

“...Yes…” Prel hangs his head, standing up. Vec swings like a door, letting him in.

“No!” Geia screeches. 

“Rawa!” Vec calls, getting my attention. “We’re missing one!”

“Who!?” I look to the faces in the doorway. 

“A small girl, short, brown hair… wearing the lapis bracelet!” Another little boy describes her, trying to push himself out into the open.

“Stay here. I’ll find her.” I straighten my shoulders, summoning my twin swords to my belt, grabbing a stamina potion from my belt and downing it. “Geia. You and Prel protect the kids. Got it? Vec, you calm them down. Everything will be fine.”

“Rawa-!” Geia lunges, ready to protest again. I’m done. My hand catches her in the stomach, pushing her back against the wall of the hut. 

“You’re needed here, Geia, this is your post. And so  **help me Stendarr, if you abandon your post like a coward, I will personally m͍̦ạ̴͙̩̻̺͚k̩̲͓̖̘͔̳ȩ̪̯̠̲ ̦͍̬͖͖͚̹͠s̱̣͓͉̕u̥̲̘̼ŕ̼͈̙̫̣̙ę ̛͉͖y͖̖͎͝o̸̻͉͍͖͔͓ͅu͔͕̦̖͍͕͕ ̜́n̲̠̜̟̮̣̳e̻̪̭̥͔v̸̮͍͍͙̜͙ͅe̢̞͚̺̺r̶ ̠̠j̺̯̦͜o̠̺̣̣̮̬̠i̞͡n̲̱̘͔̬̫͝ ͕̮̥a̡̦̬͇n̷̩̘y̦̲͕̟̜͇ ͈̥̥͈̹͓͠b͚̭͔̜͡a͖̝̟̲̹t҉̼t̵̤͓l̠͉̭͕̣̗ḙ̙̥̞!̥̬̗͇͇̩”**

“Rawa…?” Vec breaks the silence.

“Fine…” Geia stands up, shaken by my warped tone. I hear Pioth chuckle from beside me.

“Now then.” I pause. “ **Laas!** ”

My eyes search the red, settling on the dots closest to us. A smaller one and a very large one, with an intense red coming from where the person’s heart should be. Shite…

...

I run towards the dots, charging up the stairs with my swords drawn. My legs send me flying down the village, eyes focused on the blotch of red stuck onto my vision. The rest had faded; my mind was so focused on this little girl the image was burned into my eyes. 

The common area is eerily empty, void of any jovial sounds it’s usually filled with. I’ve only been here a month, and this place has already been attacked twice! Without thinking I vault over a barrel, my feet hitting squarely so I don’t lose momentum. I’m nearly as good at running as the French.

Right around this corner… I stamp down, pivoting into the row of tents, face steeled and ready for battle. 

“Treyarch!” I snarl, looking to the man. His hand was firmly clamped onto the shoulder of the girl, her face frozen in fear as tears slid down her cheek. The man’s goal wasn’t to hurt her; it was to get to me. What did I walk into!? Is this a trap? “If you hurt her…”

“What will you do about it, dragonborn?” 

“Ever been to Cold Harbor?”

“Your threats will do no good, Dragonborn.” He says, pushing the girl forward and back into my grasp. I snatch her away, settling her into my side and hugging her tightly. I stoop down a little bit so she can see the calm in my face, slowly bringing her back down from hysteria. 

_ “It’s okay. It’s alright. I have you…”  _

“Well thank you-” I look up just in time to see his arrow drawn, the poisoned tip looking down to the girl. “No-!” I feel my throat seize as I shriek, eyes widening and my chest heaving as my heart lurches forward. I curl around the girl, hugging her tightly to my front as I feel the pain rip through my back.

“You spineless coward…! The hell is wrong with you!” I pant, seeing Geia disobey me and round the corner. I see the shock on her face as the arrow protrudes from my ribs, but I’m too angry to feel the pain. I make eye contact with her, gently pushing the girl into her care as I turn around, angry as I’ve ever felt before. I growl in frustration, feeling the poison move through my veins. Why is it always poison!? “Stereotypical villain is what you are...hostages...bah!” I rip the arrow out of me, breaking it like a twig in my hands and throwing it to the ground.

I summon a bow to my aid, sending an arrow spinning to him. He ducks under it last minute smugly, about to say something condescending but I shut him up. I push off, summoning my two swords again and engaging him before he can even figure out the words to say. My right swing connects with his side, spilling crimson onto the stone like discarded wine. Out of the corner of my eye I can see other warriors come to his aid, waiting for me to fall. He must have given them the order that he was going to duel me, and after I fall to take the village. Well that was nice of him, since I won’t be dying here. I have a man to return to.

He shoves his dagger forward wildly, clipping my leg, but I’m too busy to feel it. I down two potions, feeling my body regain its strength and the arrow wound start to close. The poison won’t be negated by my poison resistance, but it’ll lessen the strain it puts on me. At least enough to slay this bitch…

“Rowan, you are not a forsworn! You are a nuisance to us!” He bitterly grunts, blocking one of my blows. 

“No,  _ you’re  _ the one holding us back!” I drop my swords, ripping the deerskin tunic right off of him. We both linger for a moment as I see the briarheart trapped by a cage of roots, shimmering under the bone. Where his heart should be holds that...thing. “It really does look like a pinecone!”

“Quiet, nord filth!” I see the fire crackle in his palm, and I shove his arm upwards so it fires into the air. 

“No need to get so  _ heated  _ about it!” I furrow my brows, narrowing my gaze. “Also, I’m a Breton.”

“I don’t care!” He tries and shoves me off, but I keep him pinned under me. 

“I wonder what happens if I touch it…” I reach my hand down, wanting to poke the seed-like monstrosity. 

“Don’t you dare!” He kicks up, forcing me back to my feet as he scrambles back.

  
  


“I̔͡t̛̼̫̣͙͇̅̽͋̑ͧ͒̿'̧̼̳͕ͬl̐̐̓l̘̊͌ ̧͔̔̇ͫ̔m͈̦͕̖͕̟ͧ͊̔͝a̵̲͓̙̰̭̦̍̓̍̐̽̽̚k̼̪̤͔̝̱̐ͥ̈́̆̌̾̚e̫̳̻̫̋͘ ̥͓̫͈̟̏ͮ̽̒̒a̶̲̪̟̻͉̬͕͛ ̝̣͖̝͋͒̑ͫ̅̾g̘̑ͩͬͥ̈́ͣo̾͒̓̔̈͛̚͏͉̪̪̭̞͎̮ö̟̺̖́ͤ̋ͣͫ̈͒͟d̟̪̩̲ ̓̎̍͐̀̿̏҉̻̝͔̤͚ͅp͑̏̅͂͞ọ͈̟͆̾̌̓̽̾t̗̂̆ͧị̴͖̌̔̽̊̀ô̬̱̘̥̟̲̩͞n̟̦͈ͥͦ̆ͯͪ̓͗ͅ ͇̤̭̥̘͈̦̿̓̏͋ì̑̋ň̮̱͔̖̟̈͗̊̅ͤg̥̱͎̰͈̃ͪ̂͆ͥ͜r͚͎̥̖͞e̻̣̽̒́ͧ͌̿͡d̡̜̬̤͇̯́i̫̠͇̳̿̊̏̽̒̔̈e͔̲͉͉̘n̛̻͎̪̿̂ͫ̎ͅt̨.̸̠̱̪͕̺̞̉ͫͨ̈ͅ.̟̹̤̟̋̾̂̓̈́.̭̼̲̟̙͈” I cackle, slowly backing up to give us space.

 

“You think you’re so special…” He growls, drawing his sword. I see the bitterness in his eyes, glinting like a wounded animal from underneath black pupils. Why does he hate me? Why does he keep trying to get me killed!? What did I ever do to him!? I haven’t done a single thing to him. Or have I?

“Oh wait a second…” I pause. “What, did you know me before I lost my memory?”

Treyarch doesn’t respond.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I knew of you, Dragonborn. And then…”

“I did in your lover, didn’t I?” I mutter.  _ “Fucking stereotypical…” _

“Correct.” 

“Really? Well, sorry I killed your wife-”

“No.”

“...Oh.” I blink. “Whoops. Sorry. Kinda just…”

“You nords always do.”

“I’m still a Breton.” We stare at each other, mutually acknowledging the deadlock. I’m being weighed down by the poison, and he’s struggling with the wound I inflicted to his side. There isn’t much either of us can do to try and break it; perhaps I can talk him down. “Listen, Treyarch, I’m sorry, but that was a while ago…” 

“I was there when you lost your memory.” He folds his arms, narrowing his gaze and making my spine shiver. “As in minutes, Dragonborn. You want to know how you got into this situation?”

“Sure.”

“You were slaughtering the forsworn who went to defend the meeting of Chieftains.” He lets that hang in the air, pleased it presses on me. I squirm in my boots, looking away and then back to him. “The poor...slashed to rags by your hand. I was the reason you lost your memory, Rawa. In retribution I clubbed you on the back of the head and brought you back as a trophy, not realizing you were alive. And instead of executing you like the monster you are, that wolf decided to use you. I’m sure he wants to marry you now, correct?”

“For the dragon’s blood.” I shrug. 

“And you’re fine with that?” He bares forward, shifting his weight to his toes. 

“Is that really your business?” I smirk, summoning my swords again. “Shouldn’t we get back to dueling? As it seems, I have a score to settle with you.”

“Rawa.” I hear Geia mutter from behind the tent to my right, out of sight. “Engage him and I’ll help you-”

“No.” My arms cross at the thought of that sort of embarrassment. Cheating in a direct challenge? Inexcusable. “ _ I have this...somehow. _ ”

“ _ I can see you’re struggling to stand...Rawa…! _ ” She mutters back, nervousness riddling her tone to me. I look down to see my legs shaking under me, barely supporting my own weight. The poison is taxing my body, and at this point I can’t even feel it. For some reason I’m less annoyed at the fact that I am poisoned and more angry by the fact that it  _ is  _ poison. I must have had very unoriginal enemies before I lost my memory. 

“Treyarch, it’s a shame we need to fight.” I tilt my head towards the direction of the hut the children are in, probably clinging to Vec. “But just so you know...I’ll protect the village. Sorry.”

“Then you will die where you stand.” He condemns, flipping his swords backwards, tensing his body despite the wound to his side. 

“Why does everyone say that!?” I sputter, swinging my own swords backwards. Pioth flutters to life in me, looking around and locking his eyes on Treyarch. It seems I’m losing to the poison, he’s thinking my life is threatened. Which I suppose it is, but...you know what, never mind. 

“Go away.” I scold.

_ No. I’ll take over. _

Go. Away. I turn to go back to fighting when I feel my hands no longer gripping my swords; they clatter to the ground beside me uselessly. My feet go next, knees collapsing under me weakly, hitting the stone and buckling. The best I can do is try to keep my vision, but in doing so I loose use of my arms and slump over into the tent next to me. I hear Geia shriek from behind me, sending fireworks on my vision and shorting out my hearing. Pioth pulls me back into myself, wrapping shadows to keep me still and slowly shutting my eyes, smiling warmly at my attempt to struggle. 

_ Sorry, Dragonborn. But I won’t let you die here. _

He had never forced me out of control unless I was angry and ready to give up the reigns. He...fought me for control and won. 

My body stands and I feel Treyarch gasp at my recovery. Pioth holds up his fists, summoning my magic and cloaking my entire body in gold, purging the poison out of me like it was some hedgewitch’s curse. I’ll remember that spell for later. Another flash of jasmine ribbons and I feel fantastic. 

“Geia is there, don’t give it away!” I plead from the shadows, looking to the reddish tinge in front of me. “Don’t scar her…! Don’t let her know…!”

_ I won’t. _

“Thank you…” I hang my head, not wanting to see the next events. 

_ You’re welcome. _

“Are you sure  _ you  _ don’t want to give up, Treyarch?”

“Where did you…?” He grits his teeth. “That poison drained your magic! I made it specifically for you!”

“Did it?” My shoulders shrug. “Well, I was never one for following directions.” My knuckles crack and my neck stretches. A soft sigh escapes my lips and once again, my body is ready for battle. 

“Dragonborn?” He says, much more calm than what I would have liked. “You may be on the top of the food chain...but it seems like something else is eating you.”

“Clever.” I hear my voice chime. “Well, I’m still in control.” Pioth lies. 

“Congrats.” Treyarch settles a heart over his briarheart, snarling savagely and pointing his sword at my body’s vitals. “I’ll beat you all the same!”

“You’re currently bleeding out, and I’m standing here with not a scratch.” Pioth curls my mouth into a toothy grin. “Perhaps if you get on your knees and beg for mercy, I’ll let you off with only losing an arm!”

“Pioth!” I lurch forward again. “Geia!”

_ Settle down. This is not on your terms, girl. _

“Rawa, what’s wrong with you!?” Geia steps out, grabbing my arm. Pioth rips it away, stepping backward and out of her range. We’re on the open ground now, outside of the village.

“Nothing.” I can feel Pioth scrabbling to keep the masquerade together. “Anyone who tries and shoots children should be prepared for the backlash.”

“That sounds nothing like me.” I snort from the abyss.

_ Quiet. _

“By your silence, Treyarch, I’m going with a ‘no’ on that surrender…” Pioth twists around, looking over to the battleground behind us. “And it seems that your men are losing. The wolf you figured you could trap just ended up slaughtering your hunters…reminiscent of something?” Pioth chuckles, turning back. “It’ll be down to the last man soon. Cael isn’t the greenhorn you expected.”

“Then I die for the Reach.” He bears his swords, waiting for me to strike. But I won’t. Because Pioth is evil. Instead, he’s going to use a bit of magic of his own. Ice worms out from under my boots, taking the form of wraiths and shooting forward, freezing the ground as they fly. He stumbles back again, letting me run up to match him with my ghastly swords. They’re lightweight enough to where having them bashed backwards by his wrapped tooth sword is utterly useless; it doesn’t stagger me or phase my grip. My swords become blurry in the high light, my rage slowly burning out through my speed as he struggles to defend himself, let alone get any hits of his own. During a particularly long swing, he thrusts himself backwards and grabs his bow, nocking an arrow and planting it at my midriff. As if it was going to do anything!

Pioth wrenches it out of my stomach, disregarding the crimson that spills from my midriff. Instead, he’s more concerned with our clashing feelings. My fear and righteousness clashes with his anger and rage, mixing us together into an animal.

_ We should have done this sooner, Rowan. _

“Hell no!” I push, sparking back to life in my moment of consciousness. I’m a third party in this fight; the puppet being controlled. It’s shameful, to have someone else control your actions so easily. I can’t fight back, not any longer. At first I had just divulged myself in his power for the sake of saving Bishop, then I kept relying on him for fights, and eventually...I lost my own power to fight.

_ How does the despair feel? _

“Fantastic.” I roll my eyes, yet still somehow aware of what was happening. Treyarch is on the ground in front of us, pinned under my boots like a common bandit. 

“This is a great briarheart?” I hear my voice chortle. “Pathetic.” My neck twists around to her, beckoning her over with a crooked finger. 

“Y...Yes?” She stutters, stunned by what he’s done. I’ve done. We’ve done.

“Go get a tent pole.” Pioth commands, waving my hand generally behind him. She trots back with a sturdy stake in hand, far taller than I am. 

“Rowan...I swear as Chieftain…” Treyarch spits, trying to look Pioth in the eye despite how my boot grinds into his shoulder.

“You’ll what?” Pioth undoes a rope lashed around a nearby pillar holding up a lantern, looping it into a pair of handcuffs with my hands. I stoop down and slip one side over Treyarch’s wrists, threatening his throat with a knife as I do so. “That’s right. You’ll do nothing.”

“I’ll…” He feels the other rope cuff slide over his wrists, and without warning Pioth raises the massive stake over my head. Treyarch expects an execution?

He’s not going to get one. Pioth drives it into the ground in the space betwixt Treyarch’s hands and shoulders, securing him snugly so he can’t stray more than an inch away from the stake.

“There we are.” Pioth chuckles darkly. “We’ll see what the wolf has to do with you.”

“You’re surprisingly merciful.” I comment, relieved as I feel him hand control back to me again.

_ He may become useful later.  _

“Oh great. Use the pinecone monstrosity as a contact. Fantastic.” I mutter, turning around and swallowing hard. 

“Rawa!” Geia cries, flying into my arms. She knocks the breath out of me and elicits a laugh, and I can’t help but pat her head as she squeezes me tightly.

“I’m sorry. I know I acted weirdly but...attacking a child…” I glare down at Treyarch. 

“I knew you’d protect her.” He glares back with equal venom. “You win, Dragonborn.”

“...Yeah. I know.” I raise an eyebrow, perusing his being again. He’s injured, yes, but…

“Rawa.” Geia pushes herself away, pressing herself to my back as we both face four more warriors, straight from the battlefield. They’re the eagle-eyed group who saw their leader defeated and have come to liberate him, I suppose…

A fireball and two arrows come at us, the former meeting my ward and the latter whizzing past us both. It slices a cut across my thigh and threads the space between Geia’s arm and side, but they miss. The fourth winds up for an arrow, eyes locked on me. As he releases I pull up another ward, fortifying it heavily so it blocks the corporeal object. It shatters, and in its place I throw another; grinding my teeth at the cycle. They’re closing in, counting on their numbers.

“Geia. I need you to chain some lightning back to the stake.” I press my back into her farther, shrinking the ward to conserve the magic I have. “Hit all six.”

“Are you crazy!?” She sticks to her firebolts, firing three just to have them sink into the forsworn’s own wards.

“I thought this was a duel.” My teeth grind as I look down to Treyarch.

“Sorry. I don’t play by the moral code you nords have.” Treyarch crows from the stake. I grind my heel into his ankle, not listening. 

“Geia; just try.”

“This isn’t some story where I suddenly get it, Rawa!”

“Well…”

“Look!” She extends her arm out dramatically, only casting a few sparks and nothing more. “See!?”

“Summon a dagger.” I mutter, dropping my ward to throw a fireball at the feet of a forsworn edging closer. We have a sea bear circle going on here; with Treyarch as the middle and us on both sides, ringed by the four forsworn. We can’t let any get too close, but there’s nothing they can do to force us to let our guard down. If only this works…

“Why the hell is that going to help!?”

“Do as I say!” I snap. She obeys, muttering swears and curses on my family, as if that’s going to do anything. 

“Fine!” 

“Now try with that.”

“Rawa did you get high before fighting!?” She shrieks. “Skooma!? Really!? No wonder you had a personality change!”

“I’m not delusional!” I elbow her in the side, dropping both wards and leaving us facing down two arrows. 

“Why did you drop them-!” She lashes out again, ripping through the air with the dagger. And as I foretold, sparks tear through the atmosphere and strike the first forsworn, then the second, and the third, and finally the pole. The one to my right, fully out of her vision, doesn’t fall. He snarls and yanks back a final bolt aimed for my head, fingers just releasing as another arrow whistles and pierces his neck, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. That was close… and I know who it is. A man I’m very familiar with. Or...was.

“A five chain that loops.” I nod, approving; lying still. “I’d say that’s equivalent to someone practicing for...five years or so!”

“I...did it!” She sings, twirling. “I did it! Rawa!”

“You did.” My eyes fall to Treyarch, grimacing and lost in his thoughts. “Perhaps your abandonment of honor is part of the problem, Chief.”

“Don’t speak to me, scum.” 

“Uh huh.” I roll my eyes, turning to Geia. “Go check on Vec and the kids. I have something I need to do.” 

“Got it.” She rushes back, excited to tell everyone of her achievement despite the still high tensions.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” He grins wolfishly, looking up to me in half-hooded eyes.

“Didn’t you tell me not to speak to you?” I turn away, walking into the village as well. “I have nothing to say to you.” 

…

I wander through the streets, hearing the cries of victory from far off. It’s over, or just about to be; no need for me to head there now. I’ll heal the injured in a moment. For now, I need this. My feet take me to my own tent; the small lean-to allotted to me when I first came here. My chest still sits on the left of my nearly untouched bedroll and seems much heavier than I could have imagined as I haul it out onto the open stone. I kick open the lid, looking into the contents. 

“It feels like a time capsule.” I say out loud.

“That’s because it is, Ladyship.” His voice rings from behind me as he melts into existence. 

“Everything’s in here.” I pause. “Or at least I hope.”

“Your dragon armor, books, most of your potion ingredients, your soul gems…” He shrugs. “Everything missing from your pack.” He sets a leather sling pack next to the chest, looking up at me as he cups my cheek to peer at my eyes. “You’ve begun to remember.”

“Well...I get feelings and urges to do things that aren’t considered normal for a peace-loving villager.”

“Like mixing honeycomb into your potions so they go down easy, waking up halfway through the night to change shifts, and every time you don’t see anyone in your eyesight your senses heighten? How you look at the rim of your flagon, looking for an oil?” Bishop dips his head. “You’re a warrior. A fantastic one at that. It’s what you do.”

“I still don’t remember everything. And I don’t remember you…” I scratch the back of my neck, looking up at the blue sky. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s see if I can fix that…” He grabs my right hand, scowling at the ring and instead pressing a new one into my palm. I blink at the piece of jewelry, picking it up delicately. It was ornately decorated with intricate knotwork, and a small rowan tree etched into the emerald. I turn it over, watching the continuous pattern with wonder. It must have taken days...no, weeks or months to finish this. I pass it through my fingers again, gasping. Under the emerald, a hairline crack snakes across a corner, continuing into the silver itself. 

My eyes snap open in anger, and everything comes back in a flow of rage. How dare Apolinus!? The ring I’m holding disappears, and I look up to see it on the finger of my ex-fiance, in our rented room in Markarth. He turns to me with a sour look, tossing a bar rag at me that slaps me over the eyes. I tear it off in rage, blinking in the new sunlight. I’m in the plains, being stared down by a sabre cat, the largest I’ve ever seen. It’s nearly as tall as a horse and dwarfs me; my hand snaps to the dagger on my belt only to grasp at air. It pounces on me, forcing me to the ground and forcing my mind into a white void. Then I’m whisked away to the depths of a crypt, carefully peering into a coffin with great interest. My coin purse weighs heavily at my side, and the newly harvested dragon scales weigh heavier. I walk into another room, walking straight into the cavern of a cave, picking mushrooms off the walls and wincing as I hear the falmer struggle within. I hear movement beside me, and I turn around expecting to see the friendly face of Vec. Instead, I’m greeted by the pale ugly mug of Pioth, his outstretched hand inches from my neck. I punch him in the face, pleased as the silver burns him and he falls over to the soft earth. I raise a fireball in my hand, slamming it down around us. The flames erupt from my feet, overwhelming my vision and knocking me back into the cave wall. Instead of slamming against rock I meet flesh, being met with a snarl instead of a hollow thump. 

“ _ Wench _ !”

I sense where this is going. I spin around to meet him with a swift kick to the crotch, and instead I hit air and see me and Bishop, alone in the market in Windhelm. The light of the runes flicker across our faces in the dark as his worried and tired countenance berates me for not being careful. After a few moments, the runes fade, leaving us in complete darkness. A light sparks to life again beside me, letting me look around. I’m back in Markarth, pinned to the stone high on the spire, with a half-pained, half-wanting look on Bishop’s face. I get to stay in this one though! A hand reaches up and I run a finger from his chin to his temple, tracing the outline of his face and memorizing it as if this was the last time I’d see him. If there’s one thing I shouldn’t forget, it’s this man.

After I relax again, I’m back in reality, staring at the ring still. Wait a second…!

**“I spent fucking three months on this ring, and he** **_scratches_ ** **it!?** ” I roar, hoisting it up in my hands.  **“I’m going to make that bastard Apolo-gize, Gods damn me if I don’t!”**

“The second thing you say is a pun. Can’t say I’m surprised.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth crinkling as if he hasn’t so much as grinned in months. “So you remember?”

“Yes.” I nod. “Yes, I do.”

“Thank the Gods…” He stumbles forward, hooking my waist and crushing me to him, digging his fingers into my back to press my frame into his as hard as he can. “I bargained for weeks to get you back, but the Gods hate us.”

“You’re probably not far off.” I pat his back, rubbing it in circles as I wait for him to release his grip on me. He refuses to let go, tucking his chin into to my shoulder, shutting his eyes and lingering there for as long as he can manage.

“Get off of me, dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass.” He pulls away, taking my braid in his hand. “Thinking you’re some forsworn. You’re better than this.”

“I wouldn’t say that…” I take the braid away from him, tugging at it so it releases my hair, letting it flow out behind me. “But I do feel like I’ve just come from acting in a play…”

“Imagine my surprise when I saw you in a skirt, walking around with your hair pinned like back like a damn noble!” He raises an eyebrow to my attire, running a warm hand up my exposed side. “What the hell are these things supposed to cover, anyway!?”

“I don’t know, actually.” I look up to his face, never letting my eyes leave his profile. A small scar runs perpendicular to his lip, leaving a gap in his stubble. Another newer one, still a tinge of pink left, sits above his left eyebrow, bisecting that too. “...What have you been doing all this time?”

“Searching for this damn ring, watering myself with as much mead as I can find, and of course wenching.” He pauses. “Eh, the last one’s a lie.”

“The Great Bishop, alone in a city, and he  _ doesn’t  _ pick up a single gal? What is this?”

“Reality. Though it appears one of us was unfaithful.” He stares at the ring on my finger, and not Apolinus’s. 

“I feel lied to.” I say at last, twisting off the ring and laying it in my palm. “Or just...stupid.”

“You were lied to. By them.”

“Cael told me the basics about myself, but I forgot everything about you, the prophecy, the civil war, Alduin…Everything I have responsibility and an obligation for.” I sigh out, looking to my feet. “I knew the guilt in my stomach meant something.”

“That’s nice and all Ladyship, but we need to get out of here.” He looks down at the chest. “Get your things and let’s shove off. I don’t want them coming back.”

“I promised them over and over I wasn’t going anywhere, and here I am…” I kick a rock with my foot, picking up my dragonscale tunic. 

“It isn’t your fault, Rowan.” He starts, stepping forward towards me. “You didn’t know. Besides, it’s a bit natural to say white lies to the people keeping you hostage.”

“I wasn’t a hostage,” I explain quickly, twirling Cael’s ring between my fingers. “They treated me really well.”

“Maybe physically, but it seems they kept you out of the loop so they could use you.” Bishop crosses his arm, shifting his weight to his right foot. “That dragon blood of yours would add a bit of gold to the gene pool, understand?”

“I’m the last Dragonborn, Bishop. After I finish the prophecy, there will be no more dragon’s blood.”

“They probably didn’t know that.” He rolls his eyes. “They thought they could control you by being kind, and they were correct. I’m sure you vowed to protect this village and its people ten times over for taking you in and giving you a home, right?”

I chew on my lip.

“For the love of the Gods, Rowan.”

“Hey, shut up.” I hang my head. “Gods I feel sick…”

“All the more reason for us to leave. Now.” He glowers at me, lip nearly curled. “You know you can’t stay here, right?”

“I know.” I tug the armor over my tunic, feeling my body settle back into it. It’s heavier than I remember. “Especially since I have the thalmor on my ass again. It still stings to leave this place, though. But I guess I have to...for both of our sakes.”

“What? How?”

“Ondolemar saw me.”

“Who?”

“Long story, but the Thalmor probably know I’m alive and began searching again. I doubt he’d leave my body there.”

“Rowan, what the hell are you on about?” He shifts his weight, glaring daggers at me. “What the hell has happened to you!?”

“A hell of a lot.” I hop out of my boots, replacing them with the ones I got in Shor’s stone. They seem much comfier now that I’ve been wearing nothing but thin mocassins until now. “I’ll tell you...later.”

“Yeah, and hurry up. The horses are just over the-”

“Rawa.” Cael finally reveals himself, eyes sorrowful at me. “I’m sorry.”


	30. Goodcries

“No, I am-” I begin, only to see a blur from beside me. Bishop wasted no time in threatening Cael with one of the arrows I made, aiming for Cael’s neck. “Bishop. Down.” I press my hand to the shelf on his bow, slowly picking off the arrow and settling it back in his quiver. 

“If he thinks he can take you again, or convince you to stay, he’s wrong. You’re coming with me, Rowan.” Bishop steps forward, shielding me from the Chieftain. “Take a step closer, forsworn; it’ll be your last.”

“Bishop, quit being protective.” I sigh weakly, tugging the back of his tunic. He pulls forward instead, tensing up even further as he face grimaces.

“You’ve been gone for months, Ladyship.” He barely even reaches above a growl as he doesn’t bother to turn and face me. “If he thinks he can take you again after I’ve worked so hard to get you back, I swear I’ll gut him like a stag.”

“Oh deer.” I chuckle, walking closer to him and pressing into his side. He flinches, looking down at me and slowly releasing tension, relaxing once I reach up and ruffle his hair. “It’s alright, Bishop.”

“I understand your anger, dark one, but she’s better here. With us. And away from you.” Cael only pokes the bear further, and Bishop tenses again and springs for his quiver. I grab his wrist and pull him back again, twisting towards Cael. 

“Cael, I know what I said, but if I stay here we’re both going to get hurt.” I plead, tilting my head as I pin Bishop’s hands by his side. “I have people after me, and they’ll find my location eventually. You can’t stand an assault from an army.”

“I can with you by my side…” He says, seeing me clutch the ring. His back stiffens and his eyes fall, sending him into deep thought. The pain written on his face rips through my heart, but I’m still convinced this is the best thing to do. Right? I have a history of bad engagements anyway, I guess I don’t think things through, so this is the right thing to do. It has to be.

“The casualties would be on my hands, Cael.” I step forward, looking over his injuries from the battle. Scrapes litter his body, but the only substantial wounds are in his forearm and shoulder. I press magic into my palm and knit the injuries back together, slowly healing his body as best as I can. “The forsworn have their own troubles without intermingling with prophecies. And…”

“And…?” He coaxes, his hands reaching out to steady me by the waist so he can look into my face.

“And...I’m not Rawa, Cael. I’m Rowan.” I pause, thinking about what I’ve said. “Rawa belongs here, but Rowan… she’s needed elsewhere. Whether or not she wants to go.”

He seems to mull that over, leaning against the tent next to him with his eyes glued to the cobblestone. He slowly shuts his eyes, nodding and looking back to me with the crystal blue I’ve stared at for months. A twang of guilt hits my heart and I nearly stumble backwards, but I make my feet stay still as I look him in the face. He deserves that much. 

“I’m sorry, Cael. I have to leave. I can’t stay here; it’ll bring you all ruin. And I can’t shake the feeling that this was just a lie.” 

“A lie? Rawa I…” He isn’t able to say it, looking to Bishop with a defeated glance and chewing on his bottom lip. “I...understand.”

“I know you did not mean to deceive me, but Cael…” I try and find the right words. “I...didn’t anticipate...being this kind of person. I can’t settle down anywhere, much less wed someone and have a happy life. It’s impossible. I have dragons to defeat, people to fight for, and destinies I have to lead.”

“At least say goodbye to everyone.” He tugs at his belt, dipping his gaze once again. It seems like he’s uncomfortable meeting my stare now. 

“Cael, I’m not mad.”

“No...but I’m ashamed, Rawa...Rowan.” He corrects himself, looking to the side.

“Don’t be. You tried but...Dragon’s can’t be kept. There are always hunters behind them.” I pivot towards the direction of Whiterun, taking comfort in knowing the bustling city lays over these hills. “Even Dragonsreach can’t hold a wyvern down forever, Chief.”

“I understand, but…” Cael looks up at the skies.

“I won’t be gone for good.” I snicker.

“What?” Both Cael and Bishop snap simultaneously. 

“No reason I can’t drop in every once in awhile.” I shrug, leaning against the pole of a tent. “Besides, I still have a few teenagers I need to check up on.”

“Right.” Cael takes a little solace in that, at least enough to finally look me in the face. “You’re always welcome...and your alchemy lab will stay there; that I promise..”

“And Cael…” I walk forward, pressing the ring into his palm. “Give it to someone more worthy.”

“I’m not sure they exist.” He mutters, raising his head. His eyes flicker to Bishop and then back to me, and before I can give a retort he dips his head low and takes my lips one last time, softly showing his goodbyes instead of speaking. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and my waist, slowly pressing me to him as he’s done so many times before. Gentle, yet still firm, he finally relinquishes, leaving me with an even larger scar of guilt across my heart. 

“Goodbye, Rawa.” He sighs, pulling away. “At least leave me with the memory.”

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, hearing a soft growl from Bishop. “It’s Rowan, Cael.”

“I know.” He says quietly, letting his eyes fall once again. “Prel and Vec are at your hut. Geia is...well I’m not quite sure. You know her. Restless, like you.”

“Thank you.” I tap Bishop on the shoulders, grabbing my pack and the rest of the contents of the chest in a swift motion so as to not linger. We both walk through the crowd of tents together, eerily silent even after a victory so large. Hopefully everyone is on the lower platforms. I loop my necklaces back on my neck, twisting my rings on over my gauntlets and braiding my hair quickly, ending it off with a circular ribbon. I replace the dagger at the small of my waist and strap more potions to my thigh. My gold pouch, now empty, sits tied to my belt, along with my various keys and other tools. 

“You look much better like that.” Bishop comments. “Than...when I saw you here.”

“Smooth.” I chuckle, looking to the platforms below. All the forsworn crowd on them, chattering and drinking, with all of them sporting bandages in one place or another. The battle was hard fought, and I still can’t shake the feeling that Treyarch being detached from their main force is the reason for our win. 

We reach the end of the tents, and I stop us both with a quick hand motion. We’re still in sync, after all this time. 

“I think...I should go alone.” I pause, knowing he would hate that proposition.

“I’m not letting you alone any more, Rowan.” He sneers. “They won’t attack me if I’m with you.”

“Yes, but the chaos may choke us both.” I reply. “You can watch me from here. I promise it’ll be easier alone.”

“I’m not letting you go alone!” His face flips to me, and he’s nearly shaking with rage. 

“Bishop, have I been away for so long your brain’s gone to your chest?” I swing around, noting how much larger he seems now. He’s only a few inches taller and seems more substantial. I wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him to me and resting on his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. That’s a promise. But I have a few people to say goodbye to…” 

“Fine.” He says, still hugging me to him. “But if they think they can take you, Ladyship…”

“Then I’ll throw their asses to High Hrothgar for disrespecting me.” I smirk, pulling away. “I’m still that hard-headed orc of a woman you knew, Bishop. No bratty teenager is going to convince me what to do.”

“Glad to see you’re still with it.” He walks forward, sitting on a small rock that overlooks the village. “It does seem peaceful, even after a fight.”

“It grows on you.”

“I never said I liked it.”

“Eh, I’m counting it as a compliment regardless.” I pat his shoulder momentarily, leaving him sitting. As soon as I’m a ways away I hear him sigh and curse again, still wanting to go after me. He’s changed. I wonder what happened to him all this time? Karnwyr is still nowhere to be seen. Probably protecting the horses. And what of the Companions? Were they looking for me, or did they just assume I slipped off again? Who knows. I have a lot of catching up to do; the real world is finally about to get their Dragonborn back. 

I walk through the throngs of forsworn, each silently turning towards my figure; or at least it feels like it. I’m in my full armor, fully ready for battle once again, and they all are just coming down from the excitement of combat. Most seem to recognize what’s happened, but those out of the loop turn to their neighbors for an explanation. They’ll realize in time; for now, I’m focused on my hut. My feet pause at the threshold as if I’m a vampire who isn’t allowed in. Eventually I cross over, patting Prel’s back to wake him up. The kids have all left, Vec stands in the back organizing the shelves, and I can’t help but feel like I’m a bad parent.

“Hello.” I call out, making Vec turn in surprise and Prel buck up. 

“Rawa!” Vec calls, eyes full of worry. I shake my head, keeping my gaze on my boots.

“Rowan.” I correct.

“Rawa…!” Prel jumps up from his chair, slamming his knee against the wood and recoiling, cursing. My books were in his clutches while asleep, and also acting as a stiff pillow.

“What did I just say?” I smirk, crossing my arms and looking up. “Goodbye, guys.” 

“Rawa, no…” Vec steps forward, eyes still wide. “But you promised…!”

“I also promised I’d protect this village.” I stop him, waving my hand. “This is the best for you all. People will be after me soon enough, and if this village took the fall for me I couldn’t live with myself. Understand?”

“But...I don’t want you to go…!” His eyes mist up, and he tries his best to hide how much he’s hurting. Staring up is a dead give away, Prel…

“You’ll be leaving too.” I lean against the doorframe, waving him out from my desk. “Vec?”

“Yes…?” He’s getting all choked up too, the big baby.

“Go track down Geia. And please hurry.” I smile warmly. “I don’t have much time, it seems.”

“Are you dying!?”

“Hell no!” I chuckle, amused at how quickly they’ve diffused the situation. God dammit, Vec. “Someone’s waiting for me, that’s all.”

“That guy with the wolf!”

“You met him?” I raise an eyebrow.

“In the mines!” He flails his hands. “I knew you knew him!”

“Why, what’d he say?”

“Once I was mining, he snuck up behind me and stared me down, and once I started blabbering about how disgusting I would taste, he asked if I knew you.”

“Wow.”

“And once I said yes, he told me to look after ya’, so I said I would, and then he disappeared.”

“That sounds like him.” I pause. “He’s waiting for me now, and not in much of a mood for me to say goodbye. Go find her.” Vec dashes out of the hut at my words, scanning the platforms and sharply taking a turn out of my vision.

“Where am I going…?” Prel asks, voice soft and aloof.

“Not just you, Prel.” I sit at the desk, grabbing a quill and in pot. “Can you grab me three parchment rolls?” 

“This doesn’t feel real…” He remarks, placing the items I requested on my desk. I dip my quill in ink, scratching on the parchment as I think of the right words to say.

“What, still feel like my assistant?” I smirk, still writing.

“Yeah. It feels like you’ll still be here tomorrow, and Vec will still have his potion pack on…Geia will still be yelling swears at the birds, distracting all of us...” 

“You’d be surprised.” I comment, signing my name at the bottom of one. I move on to the next scroll, writing once again. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” I roll my eyes. “Foreshadowing.”

“...Okay.” He looks over my shoulder, watching my sign my name again and move on to the third scroll. “What are you writing?”

“Passage letters.” I explain, writing the third. I hear Vec approach with lighter footsteps; an angry Geia must be hot on his tail.

“YOU’RE DOING WHAT!?” She screams, making me wince and drop the pen. It rolls ink all over the third, and I blot it and shake my head.

“This one’s yours. And you’re getting a note in the margin as to how it got there.” I condemn, blowing on the ink softly to dry it quickly. I sign my name at the bottom, setting it aside too. “Candle?”

Vec scoots my candle over to in front of me, watching me light the wick with great interest. They all sit quietly behind me, leaning on things and slowly trying to decipher my cursive writing. If you took a picture, it’d probably look like some rap group album cover.

I light the candle with a quick spark, waiting for wax to dribble down the sides so I can tilt it onto the paper. I press the hot wax to a piece of my armor, checking the dragon scale print for any imperfections. I see none, and move on to the next, then the last, setting them neatly next to each other and making sure the seal looks uniform. I hand them over my shoulder, turning in my stool and leaning back against my desk.

“Okay, you may ask now.” I fold my hands in front of me, looking to the three. 

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING!?” Geia shakes me by the shoulders, blubbering curses in between inconsistent insults and praises. 

“Well, two of you need a proper mage’s education, and another can learn how to make some potions.” I scan the eyes of all three of them, seeing them both curious and saddened by my words. It feels like my heart’s dying, but I have to pretend like it’s no big deal. I have to act alright. “These are my letters of recommendation for your admittance to the College of Winterhold.”

“Can you do that?” Prel asks, taking one of the papers. 

“I have connections.” I shrug. 

“Rawa, I can’t...you know...I’m…” Vec takes a paper, resisting the urge to break the seal.

“You watched over my shoulders every time I made a potion, Vec. You aren’t fooling anyone.” I smirk. “The ones that take time and effort to surpass their own weaknesses are the ones to truly fear.”

“Aren’t you just wise.” Geia crosses her arms, trying to take the last paper. I hold it steadfast in my hand, not letting her take it and bounce. I know she would.

“You three are to all take care of each other. Understood?” I raise an eyebrow and glare, making the softer two swallow hard and nod. Geia, as steadfast as she is, still looks at me dryly as if I’ve wronged her.

“You were supposed to teach me, you know.”

“No, Rawa was.” I look out the door to the sprawling village, feeling my heart sink. “I didn’t make promises in my right mind. I thought I was understanding who I was from context clues, but… I was wrong. I never expected having…” I wave my hand over my full armor. “This.”

“...Do you want your books back?” Prel motions to the pile on the desk. I shake my head no, leaning over them and settling them into three piles. “ _ Horrors of Castle Xyr _ ,  _ The Art of War Magic _ ,  _ The Doors of Oblivion _ . Those go to you, Geia. Prel, you get  _ The Black Arts On Trial _ ,  _ Enchanter's Primer _ , and  _ Breathing Water _ . And finally, for Vec…  _ Song of the Alchemists _ ,  _ De Rerum Dirennis _ ,  _ Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim _ .” I shuffle the books around, stacking them in their three piles. The only issue is...I have eleven books. 

“Who gets the journal?” Prel blurts out. I pick up my worn, tattered book, the dog-eared pages and ragged snips of parchment gently sliding past my palms as I shift it towards my front. It was what I bought with my first wages in Markarth. Ten years of my work is in this book…

“She’ll keep it.” Geia decides.

“Don’t be so hasty.” I hand the book to Prel, the one I deem most trustworthy to transport it. “It isn’t  _ just  _ going to Prel. I want all three of you to use it. And keep in mind it isn’t yours.” I lean back, looking into their eyes for what will be the last time for several years. “Next time I visit you, if you’re finished, I’ll take it back. If you aren’t…” I smirk. “Well, I’ll just have to continue checking up on it like I’m some nosy librarian, won’t I?”

“Clever.” Prel nods.

“Okay!” Vec decides, taking the book from Prel as if it was a baby sparrow. “We’ll take good care of it, promise!”

“You better. If any of you spills an alchemic acid on any of the pages, I’ll tan your hide.” 

“What about this last book?” Geia holds up the heavy, leather bound, black book from the desk, looking to the imperial dragon on the cover. 

“You know, I’m not dying! You don’t have to divvy up my things, damn!”

“What  _ is  _ this book?”

“A reminder.” I shrug, taking the book from her. “And this is staying with me.  _ The Book of the Dragonborn _ …”

“What, to remind you who you are?” Prel asks, looking to me thoughtfully.

“That, and I stole it from the Arcaneum in the College.” I smirk, leaning back. “Urag’s forgotten about it now. I can’t imagine the library fee I’d have to pay.”

“Probably in blood.” Geia chuckles. I see Bishop shift closer to the village, getting more and more restless. And probably more blood-thirsty. 

“Well...it seems my time’s come.” I stand, looking out the door into the sunlight. “Be good, alright? Especially you, Vec.”

“I will!” He happily exclaims, packing the books into his pack. I pat the top of his head, looking to my other two bright students. 

“Prel, help him out.” I request, finally looking to Geia. “And you...protect the two of ‘em.”

“Of course.” She says smugly, summoning electricity that bounces between her palms.

“Goodbye.” I shift awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to finish this conversation off. It’s a bit too...plain for me-OOF!

They all group around me in a bear hug, Vec especially taking charge and nearly hauling me into the air like a baby. Prel’s face winds up on my shoulder and Geia wraps her arms around my neck, with Vec’s arms around us all.

“Resistance is futile!” Prel shouts. 

“You can’t escape!” Geia giggles. 

“Alright, alright! I give, I give!” They finally set me down, pulling away so I can stretch. I walk out, flipping around in the doorway and beaming at them all. “Not goodbye...see you later, more like.”

“Better.” Prel decides. “Now go do Dragonborn stuff. We’ll be at Winterhold if you ever want to drop by.”

“I’ll make you a potion so good you’ll cry…!” Vec processes his own words for a few seconds. “Of happiness!”

“Sooner than later, hopefully.” I walk off again, waving over my shoulder. 


	31. Where-wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some brief fourth-wall breakage here, so beware.

“Who were they?”

“My students and...well...friends.” I blink. 

“You just settled in nicely, didn’t you?” He snarls, waiting for me to hop onto Ashes. I pause in front of the horse, feeling my legs lock up. Pioth...you bastard…

_ I never said it would last, did I? _

“Fuck you…” I mutter, trying to plant one foot on the stirrup. My foot barely makes it, and hopping over Ashes gives me enough pain to make me groan and wince once I finally settle. Bishop gracefully gets onto his saddle with no effort, looking to me with a suspicious stare.

“You don’t know the half of it.” I finally answer his previous comment.

“Ladyship...what’d he do to you?” He says suspiciously, gaze narrowing at how I readjust myself in the saddle. 

“Nothing, Bishop.” I sigh, leaning forward. My legs are so stiff, and when I lean back it feels like my bones are grinding together.

_ Heal me!  _ I snarl.

_ The Chieftain was correct...if I heal you permanently, your body will fall apart. And that would be detrimental to my plan. _

“Ladyship…” Gradient steps towards me as I turn Ashes away, looking out to Purewater Run. Cael...that something you didn’t want to remember...was it…? That noise…?

“Bishop.” I ask, turning to him, my eyebrows knitted together in thinking. His gaze softens when I use his name and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Yes, Rowan?”

“Can we never come back here?” I look to the scraggly cave.

“What about the nirnroots?”

“Never.” I repeat. 

“...That’s fine, but where do we camp tonight?” 

“There’s a dwemer ruin nearby. Near Arkngthamz, but separate. It’s not well known.”

“What is it and the dwarves naming things so it sounds like a sneeze?”

“No clue.” I look over my shoulder, adjusting Ashes. “But I could do with some non-human practice.” I dig my heels into Ashes’s side, causing more pain to me than her, and I rub her neck in apology for sending her into a gallop. It just feels wrong here, and I’ll need some time to think before I can come back to village. But Purewater Run? Never again.

“Did you really not fight when you were with them?” Bishop spurs Gradient too, catching up to me as we both fall into a slow trot, the spires of the dwarven ruin on the horizon.

“They didn’t want me to fight. Of course I figured out I was damn good at fighting early on...but Cael insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

“Odd.” Bishop’s lip tugs up at the corner, exposing his canines. “Wonder why they had you, then.”

“Some part of me says the dragon’s blood, but I...think Cael is a good person.” I look to him, expecting his reaction a dour look. Sure enough, there it is. A disguised scowl and darkened eyes look straight ahead. 

“And he asked you to marry him.”

“A couple weeks ago or so, yes.” I scratch my arms. “For...for some reason, I thought there’s no way I really had a life outside the village, so…”

“So you said yes to appease him.” Bishop finishes.

“No, I said yes, because, well…” My face heats up. “Fuckin’ hells, Bishop.”

“He flexed his power, said some sweet words, and you fell for it.” Bishop looks straight ahead. “Just like Apolinus.”

“I seem to have a pretty bad taste in men.” I snicker. “I mean...look at you!”

“Does that mean we’re starting from where we left off?” He asks nonchalantly, making me freeze in place. He...Bishop...us…

“I…” I tug on the reigns, separating our horses slightly. “I...Bishop…give me time.”

“Right.” I can hear him sigh from here. “We have a few hours until we reach the Dwarven ruin, Ladyship. How about you start talking?”

“You aren’t going to like it…” I start.

“Oh, of course not.” Silver flicks into my vision as I see his dagger twirl between his knuckles. “But I just need to know how angry to get about it.”

“Now listen here...you aren’t going to get mad at me or the forsworn about what I’m about to tell you.  **Understand?** ” I command, looking over to him, no longer playing around. We stare at each other for a few moments, my frosty glare making another appearance as I push him back into submission.

“Fine.” He huffs, setting his dagger back in its sheath. “But I’m still not going to like it.”

…

I told him everything….well, almost. From the lies at the meeting of Chieftain’s, I skimmed over Cael and I’s encounter, emphasized Ondolemar and my fall, glossed over the proposal, and finally explained the war. When I told him about Vec and Prel he grinned evilly, apparently recognizing him from the mine. To make things easier I conveniently left Pioth out; he was something I could deal with myself. I wasn’t about to ask for assistance for some measly daedra. 

“So that’s why you’re moving...oddly. Hagravens.” He doesn’t say more. “How far was that fall?”

“...Very.”

“I was in Markarth when it happened…” He grits his teeth. “Dammit! If only I had seen you!”

“I’m sure you were heavily drinking, weren’t you?” I snicker. 

“Yes, well… Still should have seen you. Then maybe a lot of this could have been avoided.”

“Yeah by keeping me against my will until you found the ring.” I snicker. “They treated me well enough…” 

“Still bothers me that you were there...with him...and you almost…” He looks off into the distance. “Yes, I’m completely angry about that, and I’ll revert back to my furious self in a moment, but out of childish curiosity...am I bigger?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously!?”

“I have no clue-it’s not like there was much lighting in a tent!”

“Gods damn it Ladyship, this is important!”

“Bah, men!” I declare. “You don’t see me comparing myself!”

“That’s because you girls are great regardless, but we vary!”

“I don’t want to know what that means. And don’t explain.” I roll my eyes. “We’re almost there. Pay attention to where you’re riding, Ranger.” 

“Sorry.” Gradient drifts a little too close, and he jerks away the reins to keep from colliding. “So why are we here again?”

“I want to let off a little steam.” 

“Was that a dwarven joke.”

“Yep.”

“...Glad to have you back, Ladyship.”

“It’s good to be back.” I lean back in the saddle, stretching towards the setting sun. “And Bishop...thank you. So much.”

“Living a lie isn’t your style, Rowan.” He glances over to me, face stoic. “Even if they treat you well.”

“Yeah…” I swallow hard. “I feel… used, guilty, manipulated, sick, and exhausted. And somehow okay with it.”

“Your mind is still messed up, Rowan.” 

“Rowan.” I repeat, stopping my horse at the gates of the ruin. 

“Your name. Not Rawa or whatever they called you.” Bishop looks to the ruins. “We’re camping in the entrance and going in tomorrow morning?”

“Correct.” I cross my arms, feeling the chill again. “Let the horses wander. They’ll return when we call.”

“They’re kind of idiots. Hopefully they’ll stay in the area.” Bishop whistles, frowning after a minute of silence. “And I have no clue where Karnwyr is.”

“Hopefully not captured again. Where was that place…? Cragslane, right?”

“Right.” He says thankfully, looking to me. 

“It feels like I’ve woken up from a really disorienting dream.” I huff, pressing close to his side. “I don’t have a cloak. Again.” I fume as the snow sussurates under us, dry and loose underfoot. 

“I could always heat you up, Ladyship.” Bishop utters.

“Still need that fight, Ranger.”

“Seriously!?” He gasps. “How come the Chief gets a free shot?”

“Because.” I stick out my tongue, retracting it once I feel the sting of ice against it. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Eh. I’ll give you that one…” He sighs, handing me my bags from the horses. He takes his own, patting the rump of the two so they both saunter off, in search of places that aren’t so cold.

“Shall we head inside?” 

“Sure.” Bishop makes like he’s going to take off his cloak, but I raise a gloved hand.

“Don’t you dare.” I make him stop. 

“Forgive me for being nice.” He grumbles, looping the clasp back on. I summon fire in my palm, feeling my shoulders benefit from the warmth as I stop shuddering. 

“We’ll be inside in a moment.” I explain, patting his arm. “But thank you.”

“Sheesh. First you complain about feeling ill, now you’re pushing my cloak away.”

“You smell bad.”

“Oh, like you don’t. Need I remind you that you haven’t bathed in who knows how long? You smell like smoke and dry leaves.”

“That’s definitely not a bad smell.”

“Yeah, well…” He doesn’t come up with a witty reply.

We both clumsily plod up the stairs, slick with snow, and do our best not to slide right into the ruins themselves. I haul open the door, letting us both into the much warmer interior of the ruin. I can still see my breath, but perhaps in the steam-powered lobby we’ll have a better chance of warming up when we’re out of the wind.

“It’s been a long damn time since we’ve camped out…” Bishop breathes.

“It’s been a long damn time since we’ve done anything.” I correct. Last time we saw each other was...when I was threatening to kill him. I groan at remembering, recalling the look of distraught emotion on his face when I ran him off. Poor Ranger. He probably expected to waltz in, save me flawlessly, have me insult and probably slay Cael, and walk out within the hour. “Bishop...I’m sorry for slashing your arm. I thought you were there for me...well you were, but you know. To trick me. And calling you a liar. And a bounty hunter.”

“The Chieftain lied to you. Big whoop.” He sets his bedroll down. “It’s fine. As long as you aren’t going to do it again.” He cracks a grin, hauling over a dwarven brazier and letting me light it. 

“Phew.” I sigh, warming my hands over the coals. “I forgot how cold Skyrim winters are.”

“The plains of Markarth...all those hot fumes keep things pretty nice.” Bishop hauls off his armor, exposing his bare midriff for a few moments before his tunic drops down to cover it. Going to admit, I stared. Hard. 

“Yeah…” I blink, throwing down my bedroll and bending to sit down on it. “ _ Ow...damn. _ ” 

“What, too used to sleeping on a bed like a noble?” He lays back and teases from a safe distance, watching me try and stoop. “I didn’t know you were getting old this early. Can you postpone it for a bit?”

“No...stupid hagraven…” I mutter, eventually just sliding to the side. “It hurts so damn much just to sit…”

“Oh...right.” He suddenly stares at nothing, which I’m fine with. I don’t want him to see how often I need to shift my legs so they don’t lock up on me. “You’re lucky to be alive, Ladyship…”

“I know, I know…” I pat my knee, swearing. “But damn if I don’t wish they’d heal a bit faster. Brittle bones my ass, this seems much more painful than some fragility right now.”

“Don’t you dare.” Bishop warns. 

“I’m not, I’m not. Gods Bishop, do I look dumb?” I lean back on my bedroll, wincing as my legs shift again. I rest my pack under my knees, sighing as some of the pressure goes away as they’re elevated. My hips still damn hurt, though. 

“Is the pain that bad?” He asks as I tug off my armor, leaving myself in only my smallclothes. 

“They shattered, Bishop.” I snigger, tugging at my binding cloth. At this point I don’t care if he stares. Even in the cold it’s nice to just have nothing but the tunic against my skin. I look over to him chewing his lip after looking at my back, the aggression from my story back in full force. In truth I actually haven’t seen what my back looks like since the forsworn doesn’t have mirrors, but…I’m going to go with ‘not good’. 

“The forsworn shouldn’t have sent you to help with that…!” He growls, the black look on his face not aimed at anything in particular.

“They’re warriors, not thieves...and figured I was the best one for the job. They weren’t wrong, you know.” 

“Can you fight like that…?” He asks.

“Well enough. But I’ll pay for any kicks I try later. Arms and eyes are fine, though.”

“You’re paying for the fight with Treyarch?”

“Yep.” I hear him rise from his bedroll, walking over to me. I expected to be handed a bottle of ale to soothe the pain, but he stoops down and scoops me up, one hand under my torso and another carefully under my knees as he walks over between the brazier and the wall, sitting down and settling me in his lap. He carefully places my knees over his thigh as I had done with my pack, leaning my frame to him.

“You’re lighter.” He comments absentmindedly, staring ahead as he rests his chin on top of my head.

“Oh good. The diet worked.” I roll my eyes.

“Much lighter, Rowan.” He tucks the stray hair behind my ear. “I don’t see you pulling some of the same maneuvers you used to. Your punches won’t hurt anymore.”

“Oh I bet they will!” I playfully hit my fist into his chest, earning a quiet thump and a short chuckle. 

“Didn’t hurt.” He brushes the strike off. “You’re going to need to focus on getting that muscle of yours back if you intend to get better and fight.”

“Yeah, yeah…” I yawn, leaning on his chest. My eyelids are lead now; trying to pull down with a constant heaviness. “You’re warm.”

“You’re cold.” He grabs his cloak from beside him, wrapping it around my shoulders gently. 

“Aren’t you cold?” I pluck at his sheer tunic, countless washings making it as soft as fur.

“I’m a nord. We don’t get cold.” He concludes. “Besides, you’re my blanket tonight.”

“Whatever. Don’t cry to me when you’re a popsicle.” 

“How would I cry if I’m frozen? You don’t make sense.”

“...I’m going to sleep.” I curl into him tighter, resting against him gently and drifting off.

...

In my dream, I’m sitting in the tavern I met Bishop in, holding a half of bread and walking back up to the bar for another few drinks. As I pass by the long firepit, I feel a hand come down on my shoulder heavily, spinning me forcefully to face whatever is behind me. In my surprise I drop my bread straight into the brazier, frowning and shriveling my nose at the injustice.

“My bread…! Great, now we’re  _ toast _ .” I swear.

“Seriously, Ladyship?” I hear Bishop’s voice ring out like the word of a god. If Bishop is actually Akatosh I’m going to be pretty pissed. I finally look back from my poor burning bread to the tavern in front of me, or, well, the lack thereof. The end of the tavern distorts and stretches out, extending beyond the horizon. The fire pit extends for miles, the chandelier stretching into a blocky monstrosity on the ceiling as the door fades, being shoved away by the wooden panels. 

“Well that just ain’t cool.” I sneer, watching my flagons fling off into the distance. “I pay for those, you know.” Trees sprout from the benches and shrubs from the floorboards, meshing the inn’s space with that of a dense forest, mixing the laughter and drinking to the ambient noise of a patch of wood. The benches now look like picnic tables in a crowded wood, the chandelier hanging from a branch, yet still lit. The firepit spits cinders into the lush grass at its base. What’s going on? An understatement, I know, but for some reason I’m so sluggish...

No one replies as three wolves trot into view, at varying distance to each other. The one in the far back is a blonde wolf, smaller than the other two and with pale fur that degrades into a honied sheen at the ends. He is the only one sitting, his tail swept around his paws as he stares at me, unobtrusively observing with a benign presence. Despite the reservation, he still has an underlying grace and power I didn’t recognize at first. 

“Since when did we become some stereotypical fanfic?” I pause, mulling it over. “Oh right. Chapter four. At least change the symbolism down so we don’t seem twelve, dammit!”

 

> ~~_ Never _ _! _ ~~
> 
>  

“Who the hell are you?” I call, not getting an answer. Some omnipotent thing messing with me, I suppose. As I speak I feel the world wiggle under me like rubber, bending and flexing at the tones and honestly freaking me out a bit. The sound waves press into the walls and push them back more, yet me and the wolves stay put despite the ground under us oscillating. My voice acts as a catalyst, beckoning the wolves closer. The one in the back is the only to keep still; the one second closest moves the most. 

I almost took him as a bear. A huge black wolf stands just as still as the one in the back, looking to me and dipping his head in recognition. A small tuft of hair between his ears stands prominently, making him carry a much more regal sense than the other two. He stands, staring at me from a short ways away, just out of reach. Is there something wrong with him? His eyes flicker from me to the wolf in front, then back to me as if telling me to look.

The one closest to me is smaller than the black one, but has much more experience by the looks of him. A long scar jaggedly rests across his muzzle, and his darkened eyes glare at me, lips pulled back to reveal curved incisors. His greyish brown fur ripples as he moves, revealing the time-tested muscles that lay underneath; the apex predator of the three. He growls softly at me, paws braced in the ground as he angles backwards, about to leap towards my throat.

“Easy doggie…” I start to step back, hitting a searing hot object and lurching forward. The hell is that!? I turn around, sneering as Pioth stands with a psychotic grin on his face, arms crossed as he blocks my very narrow path back into the rest of the normal-looking inn. “Listen here, asshole…” Instead of replying, the daedra lifts a long, scraggly finger and points it back at the wolves, only widening his smile at my look of confusion. I look over my shoulder to see the black one now rearing back instead, fangs bared as spit flies from his jaws. His neck is locked and at the angle he’s at...I can finally get a good look at the silver caps on his canine teeth; put there by someone wishing for him to do as much damage as possible. 

Once we make eye contact the black wolf lunges forward with a short bay, eyes glittering with fury as he keeps his gaze fixed on my arms, looking to tear away my defenses as I push them forward. Teeth snag my forearm and rip wet lines down to my elbow, not doing a thing to edge his wish for blood. Again he pounces, this time his jaws come inches from snapping at my flesh as the wolf is tossed aside by the ragged one, now curling around my leg protectively. The two circle each other, growling lupine curses and challenging the other to move first. I go to summon a sword to protect myself but the spell fizzles out, just as Geia’s had done. It bursts into a blackish flame and shatters violently, sending shards everywhere and releasing energy as it decomposes, filling my vision with sparks of light. 

I wake up back in Bishop’s arms, blinking away the white on my vision. The hell was that?


	32. Putting the Spar in Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cute pseudo-fluff after so many chapters of angst. (Sorry~) Enjoy!

I really need to pee. I wiggle out of his grasp, slowly pulling on his cloak and getting to my feet. My legs feel much better, but in all truth, I doubt they’ll heal on their own. Hagravens do not equate to doctors… Got it. I totter outside, feeling the cold snip at my cheeks as I shove open the great doors, shuffling outside and rubbing my arms from the cold. The snowflakes flutter down in lazy helixes, clinging to my eyelashes as I trudge through the snow. It smells sheer, and burns my lungs as I inhale deeply despite the chill.

Once I take care of business, I walk out into the open, blowing warm air into my hands and rubbing them together to heat them up. Scales from a fire dragon aren’t very resistant to the cold. I always seem to be really badly equipped, kinda like Bishop. A fucking dagger? Seriously? Karnwyr does more damage than that thing. This isn’t Hamlet. People don’t just die from a small graze from a knife, no matter what the sentimental value. ‘Oh, it’s sharp, and I stole it from some bandit! Let me just refuse to use a sword like I’m four!’ 

I smile at my imitation of Bishop, throwing my head back as Bishop is prone to do and puffing my chest out. ‘I’m a ranger, and I like to stalk people because I have nothing better to do with my life! Also, I’m edgy and like to pretend like I hate the world, and only associate with wolves! Like tarzan, but a lot more appealing!’

Speaking of wolves, what was with that dream? I’d try to look into it, but the only conclusions I can come to make no sense. The personalities were off. 

I step over a fallen branch carefully, pausing to look up at the dancing crystals. In front of the entrance, in the shelter of the ruins, there’s no wind to rip at my clothes and blow snow into my eyes. Here, it’s pretty, in a frigid sort of way. I’ve always hated the cold, but perhaps I could learn to be a little more accepting, given a few conditions are met first. For the physical interpretation of that, a cloak would do me well. For the philosophical...well, he needs to stop being a horker.

“Rowan!” I hear him yell from the stairs, knee deep in a snow bank. He hops out without issue, rushing over to me in mere moments. I barely had time to step back before he’s in front of me, arms clutching mine as he stares at me, frenetic with worry.

“Uh...yes?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is this about the cloak…?”

“Idiot…” He sighs, dipping his head towards the ground. He’s shaking.

“What?”

“I thought…” He sighs, tugging me gently towards the ruins. “Let’s get inside before I freeze.”

“You thought…?” I start to move, stepping gingerly forward next to him. His height gives him more than a slight advantage in the snow.

“I…”

“What?”

“I thought you went back to him.” He breathes, looking to the fog he creates. “Gods, Rowan…At least have the decency to wake me up…!” I let out a short snort, reaching up and patting his head, dragging my fingertips down his cheekbone. 

“It’s alright, Bishop. I’m not going anywhere.” I pause. “Except to the bathroom. Haven’t you heard of privacy?”

“All I knew is that you were gone.” He tugs open the door, admitting us both back inside to the pseudo-warmth. I hand him his cloak back, sitting near the brazier and staring into the coals, enjoying the heat on my face. I slip on my boots, noticing Bishop was right; they  _ are  _ heavier than before. 

“Eat.” He commands, handing me bread, dried meat, and two bottles of mead.

“Getting me drunk before noon.” I uncork the bottle. “I approve!”

“Yeah, well…” He sits down on his bedroll, tearing at a loaf of bread. “I don’t want to get my ass kicked just because you can’t cover your own.”

“Hey, I can still fight pretty well.” I argue, tossing a rock at his leg. “Don’t think I got weaker!”

“You definitely did, Ladyship.” He rolls his eyes, chewing and shaking his head. 

“Did not. Just got rid of the rest of that fat.” I argue, crossing my legs.

“And most of your muscle.” 

“It’ll come back.”

“Not if you don’t eat.”

“Do I get puddin’ if I finish this?”

“What?”

“Eh. Music reference.”

“This isn’t the time to be talking about ballads.”

“Sure...ballads.” I pause. “Bishop, I’ll be alright in a week or so. Don’t worry your pretty little face about me.”

“I’m more worried about the consequences of letting you stay like that.”

“I’m still plenty strong.”

“So you admit it!”

“You know what...fight me.” I stand, brushing the crumbs off my front and standing.

“Fine.” Bishop looks to the ruins. “If I win, we don’t go in there. Not until I say we can.”

“Deal. If I win, you won’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” I smirk, chewing on my bottom lip at his covert frustration. He’s only being a worrywart for my sake, but it’s annoying. Severely. Annoying. A bit like when you’re trying to eat at a restaurant, and the waiter won’t stop coming over to check if the foods okay. Food’s fine, stop damn asking. I would have complained if something was wrong!

Personal vendettas against food distributors aside, he’s getting a bit too big for his big boy pants. I’ll knock him down a few sizes.

It’s pretty good to be back. Feels like my humor’s finally returned. Now that I think of it, I was so...off when I was with Cael. Rowan kind of faded into Rawa. I suppose I kept my jokes to a minimum for the sake of the children. And Vec, who wouldn’t really get them, poor guy.

“Ladyship? You’re staring at me.” Bishop narrows his gaze.

“Yeah, was thinking about unpleasant things to make me angry.” I smirk, getting up.

“Oh, and I want your armor on.” He tugs his own leather garments over his broad shoulders, fastening the belts in front of him and drawing his dagger.

“Ah yes, the pigsticker returns.  _ With a vengeance.  _ Get a sword, ranger.” I sigh, buckling my armor over me. It’s heavy, granted, but that’s alright. He wants to weigh me down, but I’ll win regardless.

“It’s only if someone gets too close for my bow.” He shrugs. “And if he’s closer than the arc of my bow, a sword isn’t going to help, is it?”

“If you had a sword, maybe people would be be wary of getting close.” I roll my shoulders, stretching my ankles and flexing my hands. Before I even think about fighting I lock Pioth down, hearing a muffled insult from the void as I put him under wraps. While I was Rawa my psyche must have been pretty weak, because his power has dropped since I regained my memories. It’s easy to shut him up now.

“I’m not going easy, Rowan.” Bishop calls, squaring himself with me.

“Neither am I.” I summon two swords to my hands, being sure to curl the handguard extra fancily just to spite him. I’m no show off unless it’s proving to the ranger that he’s wrong.

“Yeah yeah, fancy girl has magic tricks.” He snorts, pulling out his bow. 

“What are you going to do, shoot me?”

“That’s the plan!”

“Well then.”

“You can just heal yourself, no big deal.”

“Still hurts.”

“You’ll get more pain from walking in that pit of falmer, wouldn’t you?”

“Stop making sense!” I snort, crossing my swords in front of me as I stretch my back, bending my knees. “Alright. On my mark…”

“Get set.” He nocks an arrow.

“Go!” I cry, pausing a moment for him to draw his arrow and bouncing to the side, reaching my hand out and grasping the fletching. I pull it to me, twirling it between my digits triumphantly, looking to his face of both shock and frustration. “So about that win…”

“We’ll see.” He calls, nocking another arrow.

“Eeep!” I say in a falsely high voice, taking the arrow like a mini javelin and throwing it back towards him. He ducks to get out of the way, pulling back his arrow only to be greeted by my swords inches from his legs. 

Then the power struggle started. My intricate bladework and power versus his speed and precision clash, throwing sparks into both of our faces. I wince and jerk back, and he seizes the upper hand, only to give it back on his own a few moments later. 

“Just...give up!” He snarls, pushing back against me once I get a bit too close.

“I could win easy, but I don’t want to mess up my face!” I swing, coming millimeters from the tip of his nose. “You however... you have nothing to lose!”

“I just don’t want to give you another scar on that pretty face of yours!” He snaps back, trying to hook his foot behind my legs. I kneel without his help, thrusting my sword up towards his sternum, grinning at the look of surprise. 

“I’ll take the compliment!” I crow, spinning back to my feet at the failed attempt. 

“Yeah, and if you were smart you’d take it with a grain of salt, and stop fighting!” He shoves me full force, staggering my attack and giving him room to step back and draw his bow again. I stare down the oak shaft, eyes wide as I wait for him to shoot so I can dodge. “Also, you probably wouldn’t drink as much!”

“You know what I say, Live-r let die!” I chuckle at my own pun, feeling the arrow release. “Oh boy!” I raise my forearm so the arrow ricochets off into the wall behind me. “You really want to win this, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” He pulls another one back, tugging back the bowstring. 

“Yeah well…” I watch his aim and dart away from it, closing the gap once again and meeting his bladework. But the change has made him sloppy; his blade is loose in his hand as I attack and fidgets to an angle in his hand. His strikes no longer go as far, and my blade nicks his elbow without my knowledge. Once I see the crimson I let out a short bark and stop the engagement, stepping back and jerking a thumb to my own arm. 

“Check it.” I taunt.

“Shite.” He swears, swiping the blood off of him with a finger. “You win. But Rowan, I don’t think you should go in there. Really.”

“The worry is cute, Bishop, but I’m going in there.” I roll my eyes, picking up my pack and draining the bottle I was given earlier. “It’s better than a dragon. Come with me?”

“I suppose…” He grumbles, picking up his own bag and slinging it onto him. “If you get hurt again, Ladyship…”

“I won’t. What’s a bit of machinery against me?” I crack my knuckles, looking to the door. “Besides, I’m Rowan the Dragonborn. Favored by the gods, with the soul of a dragon!” I rummage through my bag for my lockpicks, swearing as I notice everything is out of place. But that’s to be expected.

“Yeah, well I question that supposed divine part of you. As of late it really hasn’t been working.” I freeze, holding my lockpicks rigidly.

“I suppose they’re just screwing things up  _ Elsweyr _ .” 

“Was that a damn pun!?” He sighs, scratching his head. “Lead on. I’m behind you, Ladyship.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” I turn towards him, smiling. This feels much more natural than with Cael. The man’s kind, and gentle, and quite honestly I can see him making a woman very happy. But me? I can’t be protected or told to wait in the back so that I’m sheltered. Some women wish for their man to be a caretaker. Me? I just want him to make sure I don’t get a hole in my pants from all the fire.

I walk forward, grabbing his chin without a second warning and kissing his cheek softly, striding past him like nothing happened.

“Damn, woman.” He says softly. I look back to him, stretching my arm with a grin.

“What?” I laugh, rolling my neck and stringing my hair back into a braid. “I didn’t say I’d need much time. Now...you coming, Ranger?”

“Temptress.” He calls, sighing and shaking his head. I kneel before the lock, inserting my picks in and worming them around the cogs. Dwarven locks are a lot different than the ones used throughout Skyrim; they have two sets of tumblers, and zigzag across the backing. Thus, they’re a bit more difficult for even an experienced thief. 

“I really hate these.” I swear.

“I know you do.” He smirks.

“Oh you do, do you?” I pop open the lock, putting my picks back at my belt. “You remember everything about me?”

“You’d certainly be able to quiz me.” He declares.

“Who cut your hair?” I ask, looking back at him.

“Lady at the inn.”

“Which inn?”

“Which do you think?”

“Frabbi…” I smirk, reminiscing. “Ah… she’d chase me out after a few drinks regardless on whether or not I was drunk. You trust her with a blade next to your neck?”

“The way I saw it, if she was going to kill anyone in that room, it’d be her husband.” Bishop sighs, running his hand through his hair subconsciously. “They squabble constantly.”

“Yeah. Most of the time I think that even as unhappy as most Skyrim couples are, if the other dies, they’ll be upset. Her...I think she’d take the money and move on.”

“I could see that.” He nods. “Oh, and you know Vorstag?”

“You met him?” I raise an eyebrow, lingering in the doorway. He and Apolinus would always wait for me while I snuck books from Bothela. Of course the old woman knew; twelve year old me couldn’t sneak for anything. I’d hop down the steps with the books strapped to my back, tackle Apolinus for good measure, and be hauled onto Vorstag’s shoulders as we went around our usual shenanigans. Before Apolinus and I knew it he was already much taller and stronger than the both of us, wielding a sword his father bought him and already disappearing during the day to hunt. He taught me how to use a bow, albeit I never used the knowledge until years later. In return, I taught him about dwarven traps and history.* I wonder if he still thinks about what I told him.

“Don’t talk to him again.” His gaze darkens to display a fury much greater than when we just sparred.

“Oh...okay.” I’d fight with him normally, but that look told me more than he could ever put into words. Had he changed? Was Bishop just being protective? The world may never know. If it’s about the fact that he’s a mercenary...well, honor can always be restored. Something something, insert poetic and inspiring speech here… I want my damn friend back. It may be hypocritical, but I don’t think he’s bad despite his chosen line of work. He really just tried to hard to keep on his father’s business, and sunk himself. I can understand that.

“Are we going in?” He asks. “ _ Still against it, by the way _ .”

“Didn’t ask,  _ by the way _ .” I chuckle, stepping backwards into the downward slant that is the dwemer entrance. “Careful.”

“Of what?” Bishop asks. “Spiders? Already?”

“Traps.” I summon a blade and drive it into the wedge of a valve, bursting it off. Steam screams from the floor bases, welling up where normally fire would have been. “That.”

“...I’ll leave that to you, Ladyship.” He steps around the plates, immediately switching his stance to put his weight on the front of his feet. Hunter, through and through.

“You do that.” My eyes follow the pipes across the hall, settling on two service pipes to the left. “Spiders. Workers. Under the gem.” 

“Got it.” He steps forward, and the pressure creates an imbalance to a delicate pipe, releasing the valves and sending the spiders shooting out. They uncurl as they fall, their jointed legs sprawling out under them as they click their arms, testing out their conduits. 

Bishop takes out the first before it lands, and dispatches the second within moments of its arrival. He unplugs the soul gems as I did back in Raldbthar, tossing them to me lightly.

“You’re handy.”

“No Ranger, you are.” I smirk and return to his side. “So...how was your stay in Markarth?”

“Oblivion. How you stood that place for so long will forever baffle me.” He sighs, slotting his arrows back into his quiver. “The city seems so empty. And everyone’s a stubborn ass.”

“So you fit right in?”

“Funny.”

“How’d you get the ring back?” I pull it out from the depths of my bag, inspecting the scratch. Not too deep, but… it wasn’t exactly taken care of either.

“Looking very, very carefully.” He growls lowly. “That ex-fiance of yours didn’t help too much, either.”

“Why did you think he would?” I chuckle, putting the ring away and bringing out my lockpicks. We saunter up to a dwarven chest, almost looking like a bench with its oriented lock. I plug my picks into the mechanism, feeling around without looking as I stare up at him.

“He didn’t care much when he learned your memory was gone.”

“Again, did you think he would?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Well there’s the first issue.” I rub my hands together and return to my work, popping the lock open and splitting the gems I find inside with Bishop.

“I thought he’d at least care.”

“He liked the idea of me. Once he finds another woman...or man, for that matter, he’ll be fine.” I scoff, sliding the chest closed. “Sphere. Under the sternum.”

“It doesn’t have a sternum!” Bishop turns towards the clamor, shooting an arrow about chest height to the machine. It lodges in the crossbow by some will of a daedra and locks it up. It halts, no longer having a source of attack, and freezes in place.

“Well that’s weird.” I declare, walking across the stone tile to the disabled dwarven machine. I summon a sword, wedging it under its hip joint and popping the entire unit from the wheel base, leaving me with a particularly great mode of transport.* “Watch this!”

I grab the base that’s left, planting both feet on either side of the sphere’s platform. Like magic it rolls forward with me on it, and cheered on by Bishop’s look of disgust, I do loops around him.

“What in oblivion are you doing?” He sighs, crossing his arms. 

“I am the avatar-”

“None of your stupid references, Ladyship.”

“Ye olde hoverboard?”

“Shut up.” 

“Well someone sounds like they don’t want a turn.” I roll uphill, pushing off the wall and rocketing down the slope and further into the ruin, only to swing back around again.

“I don’t. You’re going to fall and break something.” He taps his foot.

“No I won’t!” I roll by, only for him to stick his hand forward and send me flying through the air. I twist around like a cat and latch onto a pipe.

“Mean.” I call. “You’re the reason I would have broken something.”

“Eh. Better by me than by fate.” He smirks. “Now let’s go. This place still gives me the creeps, and we haven’t even reached where the falmer took over.”

“Yeah yeah…” I walk deeper into the ruin, listening to our footsteps bounce off the walls. “Hey Bishop, you know how the Dwemer were really short?”

“That... _ is  _ why they were called dwarves, Rowan.”

“Do you think they walked funny because of it?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“Do you think they called it their  _ Dwemer strut?”  _ I ask, picking up an ornate piece of dwemer metal. 

“Ladyship. I missed you a lot, but stop talking.” He says, despite the scoff that interrupts his speech. 

“Yeah?” I smirk, picking a soul gem off a table and handing a gold ingot to Bishop. “You missed me?”

“Tons.” He breathes. “But I’m not going to admit it.”

“Of course not.” I wink, grabbing an extra cog. 

“What are the parts for?”

“I want some spiders. I just need some guard ones instead of the workers.”

“Ah.” He doesn’t question further, stooping to open a chest. He stands again once he finds it empty, and we move on. “It seems like forever since we’ve just explored.”

“Yep. Enjoy it while you can, boy.” I smirk.

“Boy! Little red riding hood, calling  _ me  _ boy!” He turns to me, crossing his arms. “Only reason I haven’t eaten you yet is because of how skinny you are.”

“...Uh huh.” I raise an eyebrow. “Hasn’t stopped you from trying.” He mulls that over for a second, his eyes cracking wide. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He chuckles as I dig through another chest.

“ _ Uh huh. _ ” My voice echoes as I haul out some jewelry. I pull out a half of bread, chewing it more as we walk. “Spider on your right.”

“Got it.” He draws and fires, shattering the soul gem like glass. Which it is, I guess.

“Dick.” I chew.

“Sorry.” He retrieves his arrow, checking the point and showing it to me. “At least I didn’t break your arrow!”

“Good job?” I smirk. “I think we’re getting closer to the falmer point in our journey. You going to turn tail and run, Ranger?”

“I wouldn’t leave even if you let me.” He turns towards me, taking my hands. He swallows hard, putting on a soft countenance as he slowly opens his mouth to speak. “But you can take the front!”

Bishop shoves me in front of him, poking my back so I walk.

“Jerk!” I tease, jogging a few feet ahead of him.

“Always, Rowan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vorstag has more quotes about dwemer traps and machinery than any other follower. (Fun fact!)  
> **Rowan is basically using the sphere's wheel mechanism by balancing where the legs connect and leaning. Quite literally like a hoverboard, but much cooler. (Don't question. It's 1am and I'm tired.)


	33. Talisman and Trinkets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And if you're not in the United States...Happy November 24th, everyone!

“Ladyship, why are you staring at those stairs?”

“Don’t trust ‘em. Always up to something.” I stare up the stairs to the door calmly, crouching as if surveying the hallway intensely.

“Alright, well you admire the architecture, I’m going ahead.” He sighs, pushing past me and walking up the stairs. I chuckle evilly from where I sit, waiting for the show. This should be quite entertaining! Once he gets a third of the way up, huge spinners extend from the floor, coming at him at his midriff, threatening to cleave him in half. He gasps, crouching as one nears him and vaults over it, pressing himself into the closest nook he finds.

“Why you didn’t take my pun as warning, I’ll never know.” I snap my fingers, summoning a stool under me and sitting down, crossing my legs in triumph. I lean back, chuckling as I find him stranded about halfway up, with the spinners going much too fast to allow him safe pilgrimage to the top. Usually the traps are a bit worn down from age but this one must have been a lucky one that’s been spared the water damage the pipes usually carry. Faster than the rest and with the blades still looking freshly sharpened, I’d dare say they may lacerate right through a poor adventurer before he even knew his bottom half was gone.

“What pisses me off is it was a double pun!” He sighs, leaning against the wall as far away from the tines of the spinners as he could manage.

“Indeed it was. Want some help, Ranger?”

“I can get it, Rowan!” Bishop snaps, looking around for anything he can get to. 

“You sure?” I spin on my ghostly chair, amused by this entire situation. 

“I’m sure there’s just some damn pipe you’re going to burst, or some damn valve here I need to spin, or some fucking lever!” He snarls, looking in his limited field of view, bow at the ready to shoot whatever magical object he’s looking for.

“No, there isn’t, but hey. If you want to spend all day there, that’s fine.” I prop my head up with my elbow, which in turn is propped up on my knee. I’m comfy here. If only I could summon a footstool…

“Where is it, Rowan, tell me!” He presses against the alcove as the blades come spinning by for the tenth time.

“Nowhere. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Bullshit!” He hisses through his teeth. “I swear Rowan…”

“You got yourself stranded. Not like I told you to go up there. Hey, I’ll help. All I need you to do is admit that I’m a badass dragonborn, better than you, and the best fighter you’ve ever met.” I purr, bending over backwards overtop my stool and cracking my back blissfully.

“That last one is true, but I’ll never admit the first two.” He spits.

“Well, in that case, I’ll leave you to escaping.” I stand up, breaking my spell on the chair and heading up a ramp to my left.

“Rowan!” He yelps, watching my figure disappear in panic.

“Yes.~” I call smugly.

“You’re right. Now help me.” Bishop says bitterly. I return to the bottom of the trap, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.

“No, come on. I need you to repeat what I said. Say, ‘Rowan, you’re the most badass Dragonborn I’ve ever met, and are so much better than me.”

“Rowan just help me!”

“Not until you say it!” 

“Rowan-!”

“Hey, you’re in no position to negotiate!”

“Fine!” He growls, echoing his voice off the walls. “Rowan, you’re the most badass Dragonborn I’ve ever met, and are so much better than me. Now help me!”

“As my Ranger commands.” I pull a soul gem out of my pouch, walking forward towards the blades.

“Rowan are you crazy!?” He yells from the sidelines. “You’re going to try and wedge that in? You’ll slice yourself in half!” When I continue to walk forward he protests even louder. “Rowan what in Oblivion-!”

I walk up the slope, watching carefully as the blades come hurtling down on their tracks to meet me. I can hear the grinding machinery under the floorboards, creaking as it converts steam into kinetic energy to send these blades to me at an rpm I can’t see with the naked eye. When they get closer I feel the breeze from how fast they move, like the tines of a helicopter, pushing down on the floor, heaving as the metal strains to contain them. Finally it reaches me.

But the blades freeze before touching skin. I touch one testily, and in response the floor shudders. The blades click into an upward position, and they sink into the floor without cutting me in half.

“What the hell!?” Bishop cries, walking out into the center of the floor and yelling down at me in anger. “You could have been killed!”

“No I wouldn’t.” I bounce the soul gem in my hand, walking up to meet him. I drag him fully up the stairs, kicking open the next door into a common room and letting him close the door behind us.

“Why did they stop?” He looks to the soul gem. “That?”

“This is the soul gem from one of the spider workers.” I tuck it back into my pack. “What, you thought they were just too light to activate the traps? They’re as heavy as a horker, and just as fumbly.”

“So…”

“They have a signature that stops the charms imbedded on the pipes and disrupts the flow between clamps.” I pause, seeing that he’s not getting any of it. “There’s a curse on them that stops the magic in the traps.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “So there really wasn’t a pipe.”

“Not for those, no.” I chuckle. “Traps are where the spider workers can’t get to. They’re magic. Now then...shall we buckle down here for the night?”

“Is it night?”

“Internal clock says yes, external brain says it doesn’t matter at this point I’m really damn tired.” 

“Yeah well I’m  _ tired  _ of your puns.”

“Aye!” I beam.

“...That should enrage you, not delight you.”

“When have I ever done what you expected?”

“True.” He tilts his head to the side. “So we’re camping here?”

“Yes unless you want to sleep with the falmer.”

“That’s disgusting, Ladyship.”

“I meant it like ‘sleeping with the fishes!’” I protest.

“What does that mean?”

“The thieves guild uses it as a threat.” I raise an eyebrow. “Something about throwing your body under the riften docks. That’s what I meant!”

“Sure you did.” He rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll get a brazier over here. You get out the food.”

“Dibs on the alcohol.”

“It’s all alcohol.”

“Well then I guess you got lucky.”

“...Stop talking.” He slashes the chain on a brazier, picking up the pot of dead coals. He grunts under the strain. The weight must have taken him by surprise.

“Need help?”

“Nope.” He swings it over to me, setting it down on the floor. “Though it’s heavier than it looks.”

“Dwemer metal generally is. They compressed the metal so it’s nearly as dense as ebony. Corundum in theory is malleable enough, but how they got it to lose its soft quality post-forge I don’t know. ” 

“Interesting. I really don’t care.” He sits on the stone, unrolling his bedroll as I hand some bread and a bottle of mead to him. 

“You’re the epitome of why Skyrim is known as one of the dumber nations. Apathy at the world.”

“And yet we have some of the most formidable warriors.”

“...True.” I giggle. “When I first came here, one of the first fights I saw were two drunks swinging at each other. One headbutted the other until he passed out.”

“...Now Rowan, I’m not that stupid.”

“No, you aren’t. But you are that stubborn.” I down my first bottle of mead, discarding the bottle behind me. “Are we joining bedrolls?”

“Are we?” He leers, uncorking his bottle and taking a swig. 

“I don’t see why not.” I shrug. “I can use you as a pillow. It’s cold as hell down here.”

“Whatever you want to say to...justify yourself.” He smirks.

“...Hey!” My cheeks heat up and I nearly fall backwards. “...Am not!”

“Oh come on, Ladyship. I thought your memory is back.” He smirks, buttoning our bedrolls together. “Don’t worry, I’ll be good. The cold’s doing things to me too.” Unfortunately, I have a very good, working understanding of human anatomy.

“Bishop!” I ignite the coals, feeling my face heat to the same color. “Stop talking!”

“You’re calm and collected until someone mentions a dick.” He laughs. “Though of course once you get into it…”

“Shut up.” I throw my spare shirt at him. “...Now give that back.” I start to tug off the tunic I’m wearing, feeling his gaze snap down.

“In front of me?”

“Well you see Ranger, under this tunic lays…” I pull it off in one tug, holding it triumphantly in my hand as he looks down. “Disappointment!” My chest binder lays below, wrapped around my top half.

“I don’t know what else I was expecting. Maybe a cool brand? Elven tattoo?”

“If I had one, it’d be from my college days.”

“...Really?”

“No.” I pause. “To the brand, not the college.”  
“Well I knew that.” He sighs, laying back with a half of bread between his teeth. “What made you leave, anyway? Seems like you’d stay there forever.”

“It was a very amazing place, but there was an incident. I would have stayed though, if only for my love of architecture. Did you know the main tower is the tallest building in Skyrim?”

“...Ladyship, it most certainly isn’t.” 

“Really? Because it definitely has the most stories...” Bishop groans, flopping back onto the double bedroll. I finish my second bottle smugly, kicking it back and draining it like the first, rolling it behind me. “Bedtime?”

“Not with you smelling like alcohol.” He tosses me my tunic, watching me put it back on and unstrap my boots.

“I can fix that.” I pull out a vial, swishing the contents around my teeth. “Minty!”

“What is that?”

“You haven’t heard of mouthwash?”

“What?” I toss him a vial, and he copies me. “It is minty.”

“It’s a trick I picked up in Valenwood.” 

“Valenwood? Aren’t the Bosmer cannibals?”

“Are they?” I pause. “You know, that would explain why they would need this stuff. And why that innkeeper tried to slather me in barbecue sauce.”

“Seriously?”

“No, you idiot.” I chuckle. “As far as I know, it’s because they can’t eat anything plant based, so when they go to war, they just...use the readily slain meat product. They aren’t looking to their neighbors with a fork in hand.” 

“What a great topic before bed.” Bishop says sarcastically. 

“I can go into the Wild Hunt if you’d like?”

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll explain the parameters of the Meat Mandate?”

“It sounds like something a Khajit would try to sell you in a back alley.” Bishop sighs. “Practices like that is is why I always end up back here.”

“Hey, you need to at least be willing to go High Rock. I want to go back there sometime soon.”

“Homesick?”

“Nah. The potion ingredients are cheaper. And I want more spellbooks.”

“Always back to potions with you…” He scratches his head, opening the bedroll and sinking in. “Coming?”

“But of course, space heater.” I wink, undoing my braid and wiggling inside the bedroll. I press myself against him, feeling the ache in my legs. “...I may  _ knee _ d some assistance.”

“Say it in a way that isn’t a pun.”

“My legs hurt. Please help.” I grumble, flipping over so he can settle his leg behind me. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply, as I can already hear his breathing, slow and steady behind me. Fighting machines does take the energy out of people. I twist around smugly, trying not to giggle and wake him up at his sleeping face. Still I smirk, amused at how neutral his face looks without his hooded eyes or wolfish grin. 

“Such a cute little ranger.” I mutter, kissing his forehead and settling back down, falling asleep.

…

**Bishop**

Cute!? She calls me cute!? Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a brain in that head of hers. Then of course she takes apart a dwarven spider cog by cog and sticks it back together, but that’s besides the point. I am not cute. And that is final. She however… she’s drifting off now, mumbling something barely under her breath, hands slightly twitching as she tries to grip some dream-bow. It’s a relief to be next to her again. Not just in this bedroll-although the curvature of her body was quite nice, but in general too. 

Being free to do this, to just wander and explore, felt so nostalgic. The banter between us, Rowan’s bad puns, and of course having someone watch my back- all reminded me why I had missed her so much in Markarth. It wasn’t some head-over-heels attraction where I fell for her body instantly. In that regard, she was actually quite plain. The real adornment came from her quirks. The embarrassment over dirty jokes, besides occasionally making them herself, the puns, her adept skills at essentially useless things; it wasn’t her use in combat that made her stand out. Sure, she may be the dragonborn, but even if she wasn’t… she would still be Rowan. It wasn’t her identity, just a small part of it. 

I’d think more, but my eyelids are fighting me. And according to Rowan’s light snoring, she’s truly out too. I think I’ll join her. 

…

“Morning, Ladyship.” I wake, propping myself up and patting her arm too. “At least I think it’s morning. It’s later, at any rate.” I look to the brazier, out again. The dwarves really suck at making things last. Including their own race. 

“Rowan…” I look down. She’s curled up in a ball, still snoring. I roll her onto her back, hoping the movement would wake her. It didn’t. I sat up, looming over her. “Ladyship!” I call, finally seeing her eyelids twitch.

“EAT SHIT, NAZEEM!” She screeched, firing up a right hook that clipped me directly in the diaphragm. 

If I wasn’t laughing so hard, I’d be amazed at how much power was behind that punch. It threw me out of the bedroll and onto the stone floor, sputtering and dying of laughter as she sat up, dazed and confused, only to see me sucking in air.

“Whoops!” She stands, helping me to my feet. 

“Yeah…” I cough. “Whoops.”

“Sorry!” She grins smugly. “But what was that you said when we first got in here? That my punches weren’t going to hurt anymore?”

“Yeah well...probably would have hurt more... if you had more muscle... like you used to.” I barely squeeze out, rubbing my chest painfully. “So why...were you dreaming of Nazeem?”

“Oh, I had a dream we were in the Drunken Huntsman back in Whiterun. Somehow I got into a brawl with Nazeem.”

“Did you…win?” I finally feel my breath return and I sigh, relaxing. 

“I don’t know. That was the first-and last-punch of the brawl.” She grins again, digging through her pack and handing me a waterskin. “Water for the combatant.”

“Some dream.” I comment, drinking half of the water. 

“Damn good one too.” She admits. “We need to go drinking at the first town we get to.”

“Of course that’s your idea of a good time.” I smirk, scratching my face. She stares at my features intently, though not at my eyes.

“What, something on my face?”

“You need a shave.” She’s stares at my forming beard.

“Why, not a fan of beards?”

“Not really.” She sprawls out on the bedroll. “You like ‘em?”

“Not on me.” I scratch my chin. Yeah, I do need to shave. I’m alright with the stubble, but it’s getting a bit long. Thankfully, I’m no little boy who needs some safety blade. In truth I just use my knife as a straight razor, which gets a bit tricky with no mirror. Years of living in the wild has trained me to take it slow to avoid slicing up my own face, but I swear I still have a few scars. At this point I probably couldn’t tell if they were from battle or shaving.  I sit on a nearby bench built into the wall, pulling out my knife and slowly starting with my cheek, dragging the blade down parallel to my face. 

“Why don’t you use your pendant as a mirror?” Rowan pipes up from the bedroll, half an apple in her hand. 

“Wouldn’t it not be shiny enough?”

“I polished that thing to perfection. If it isn’t shiny enough to be a mirror, your chest must be as rough as sandpaper.”

“...Fine. I’ll try it.” I pull my necklace from my tunic, taking another moment to stare at Rowan’s handiwork. I know every detail and crevice she put into this thing by heart. Weeks of staring at it branded the pattern into my mind. But is the back enough? I flip it over, looking to the blank backing. 

Or at least I thought it was blank. My hand freezes once I set eyes on it. In tiny letters, bending around the bottom, there was a small inscription: 

_ For Bishop, the one partner who stayed. -Rowan _

Short and sweet. I had never seen it before, but there it was. I stared at it for a while, taking in the words. Partner. Not companion, not friend, not follower. Partner. A word with two meanings. Lover and comrade.

I mulled that over while I finished shaving, feeling my heart clench just a bit tighter when I looked at the woman in front of him, lazily flipping the pages of a book she was engrossed in. She looked up to meet my gaze, cracking a grin and saying something I didn’t quite catch-probably an insult- but it didn’t matter. He was her Ranger, and she was his Dragonborn.


	34. Well *Armed* Helpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some seriously evident fourth-wall breakage in here. Read at your own risk!

**Rowan**

“Are you done?” I ask, finishing off another bottle. 

“Yeah.” He sheathes his dagger, still contently studying my face.

“Is there something on my face, or…?”

“Yeah, your face.”

“Bishop are you alright?”

“Fine, ladyship, why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m used to Bretonic physiology at the moment. Your nord heritage is throwing me off.” 

“That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve said yet.” He snorts. I scan his face, his cheeks slightly tinged and eyes glassy. He looks a bit sick to me, but it could just be the cold. Seeing as they’re mainly cold-resistant, it would make sense for Nords to have a higher body temperature. Bretons, however, enjoy warm winds coming from Hammerfell. “Explains why they’re so good to sleep with…”

“Ladyship?” He pipes up. I pause. 

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes.” Bishop smirks. “You did.”

“Well I was talking about sleeping next to you, so there you go.” I roll my eyes. Shit.

“Freudian slip, Rowan...Freudian slip.” He chuckles. “I won’t forget that one…”

“Yeah yeah. Come on Ranger. Let’s go.”

“Aren’t we near the falmer?” 

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

“Wimping out this far?” I cross my arms smugly.

“Nope.” He grins. “But now you’re going to have to be more careful, Ladyship.”

“Nah.” I stand, straightening my clothes and packing up my bedroll. I clip fresh flasks and vials into my hip band, clinking my belt and adjusting my dagger. Bishop does the same, slipping his armor over his undershirt and slinging his pack over his shoulders. “Be careful yourself, asshole.”

“It’s almost like you care.” He walks up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pressing me to him. I look up to him, questioning his motives, and promptly receive a quick kiss to the forehead. “Still need time...I know.”

“The guilt is what’s stopping me.” I admit, intertwining my fingers with his. I squeeze his hand tightly, barely meeting his eyes as I tug myself away. As I turn I know he reaches out to stop me, but of course he’d recoil. It bothers him too. He just won’t bring it up because he doesn’t want to lose me. This infinite loop of guilt...is an interesting demon.

“Wait a moment.” He calls, nocking an arrow and returning to his place next to me. I shove open the door in front of us, admitting us to the long dwarven hallway, barely lit by the lamps on the side. The ruins have fully awoken now that it has two beings in it, or, well, two beings that aren't former slaves. The snow elves don’t count to the dwarves. 

I had been doing research on them when Sylar, the betraying mage, went out of her way to get assassins after me. Calmly walking back from a night at the inn with two drunken colleagues who can’t hold their own, to notice a figure following us through the town is shocking, to say the least. Troublesome too. They were too drunk to defend themselves, and I was without armor or weapons. It was certainly a fun time all around.

Did you catch the sarcasm?

“Bishop.” I call, halting us both at the end of the hall. “Laas!”

“How many?” He questions as I pop the lock on a nearby vault. I could see the chaurus chitin tents and grotesque innard fences from up here. The smell is a big giveaway too. I don’t know how they domesticated chaurus, but I can see why puppies are more acceptable in households. The stink of poison permeates the room, mixing with the earthy and metallic smells of the ruins. Ten times worse than wet dog, for you all at home.

“About six. Three chaurus. No hunters.” We’re on the upper balcony, looking down to a hub below. A fountain lays in the center, dead and lifeless. If we stay here for too long it’ll turn on, and I’m not fond of the idea of giving away my location due to a geyser who couldn’t keep it its pipes. 

“Think we can shoot them all from here?” Bishop leans over the railing, scanning the falmer settlements below. “Do they have a way up here?”

“Ramp to our right. And also...crossbow.” I stride over to the dwarven turret, praying the joints aren’t rusty as I point it over to the group of three falmer. Bishop hops behind the other crossbow, aiming it at the chaurus pen. 

“Three...two...one…” Bishop calls softly, clicking the lever after the countdown. I do the same, and six bolts rain down to the figures below. One chaurus and two falmer go down. I guess it’ll have to be good enough. 

“You back me up and take out any archers. I’ll go after the chaurus first.” I summon my swords, jumping up onto the spiral railing and slowly descending down to the ground level. Or… what do you call the ground floor underground? Sub-ground floor?

Elevation doesn’t matter. I widen my eyes in the dim light to try and assess what’s around me. There’s one falmer and two chaurus now; nothing I can’t handle. The falmer is crouched in front of his hut, which is built against the ramp I’m on, aware something is around but too blind to look around. However, he or she had the sense to deploy the chaurus. They click angrily from their pens, bodies swaying as their legs dig into the soft earth, running at me.

I hop off the railing, angling myself towards the falmer. I’m going after the chaurus, sure, but I’m not dumb enough to get impaled by a poisoned chitin blade.

I land on the falmer’s crown, my knee connecting with his cerebral vertebrae. No crunch, but if he or she is seeing anything, it’s stars. I hit the ground and sprint towards the chaurus, even intimidating them into a half-freeze. I throw my first sword straight into the face of the chaurus, watching it stick and continuing to sprint towards them full force. I’m not going to stop in front of them, that’d be stupid. Instead, while the chaurus is reeling from the sword wedged in its carapace, I sprint past, grab the handle, and plunge it fully in instead, spinning around and pulling it out to face the second.

This one will be harder. The chaurus the falmer breed are much larger and more poisonous than their free kin; years of breeding has created a strain much hardier than nature intended. One sword is immediately dedicated to keeping the pincers at bay, the second goes to batting away its rending limbs. Angrily clicking and not in a mood to die, I’m having much more trouble than I bargained with.

“Yol...Toor!” I yell, breathing fire into its face. While it’s recoiling I yank a strength potion from my belt, drinking it and feeling the change to my core. I flex my fingers and look to the chaurus, seeing it rear back and wind up for an attack.

It lunges, hurling itself forward to attack me after the soft lull. My foot comes up from under its head, connecting with where its chin would be and flipping it up into the air enough for me to wedge both swords under its jaw, spearing the insect like an...insect.

Yep. Can’t think of insect puns.

That  _ bugs  _ me.

Dammit. Now I think of one?

“You wouldn’t have needed a strength potion-” Bishops starts, walking up.

“Shut up, Bishop.”

“Just saying.” He crosses his arms. “Check your arm, Ladyship.” I look down, seeing the gash the chaurus took out of my right forearm. 

“Shit.” I press my hand to it, healing the laceration as best as I can. “These really suck.”

“That they do.” Bishop sighs. “Nothing good on the falmer, either. And I don’t care what you say, I’m not cutting off their ears.” 

“Hey, all I said was if you do, I can make some hardier potions to resist poison.”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to drink a falmer’s ear.”

 

“True.” I turn to look at the singular door that lay just past the fountain. More falmer, more chaurus, and probably a hell of a lot more machinery awaits us. “All in favor of skipping the rest of the falmer parts in the story until something more important happens, say aye?” The question baffles Bishop; it’s evident by how his eyebrows immediately join together.

“What? Do you know where the falmer are specifically?” He pauses. “What story? Are you actually just stupid?” He holds up a few fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

~~**_Aye_ ** ~~

“God has spoken!”

...

“See? Timeskips are great.”

“Ladyship, we just fought through about ten rooms of nothing but falmer.” 

“What was I talking about again?”

“...I don’t know.” Bishop sighs, shaking his head. “Sometimes, Ladyship, I swear...you just go nuts for a few seconds.” 

“What, where I just hear the word of God?”

“...That, and, well, other things.” He pauses. “Whatever. Let’s just get through this.”

“Uhhh…” I freeze before opening the next door. He’s talking about Pioth, but the daedra hasn’t regained power since I pushed him down the hypothetical flight of steps inside my soul. I doubt he’ll be a problem anymore. I’ll do my own research on how to get rid of him. I know both his name and master; it shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Uh?” He looks to me, then back to the door. “What’s in there?” I press my ear to the door, looking around the crest of the molding for any indicators. 

“I can hear a lot of small pipes...and running water. Probably a centurion.”

“How do you know?”

“Can feel it. Trust me on this.”

“Okay…” He nocks an arrow. “Well, shall I follow your lead?”

“Actually…” I look behind me to the carnage we’ve left. Falmer and dwarven spiders litter the floor, with a poor chaurus hunter smashed just beyond the corner. I lost my patience and summoned a battleaxe, and cleaved the damn thing in half out of frustration. The gyro of a sphere rolls gently across the tile, coming to rest at the bottom of the stair we’re on. Two dwarven spiders among the mess in particular caught my eye. I don’t know if they were rejects or just made by mistake, but they’ll do...may even end up being better than the normal ones. I pick up the bodies, dropping them on a low table in an alcove near us. I rip apart the frame of the dwarven sphere, salvaging the gem and its two flamethrowers. I place them on the table, hooking two greater soul gems into the cages and plugging a flamethrower in the very front of the spider. It has the usual sparkplugs in the front, the six legs, but for some reason it has another space for something directly in front. No clue how. I think it was meant to be a specialty worker, but whatever limb is supposed to go there has been missing for centuries. And I’m not questioning some dwarf’s engineering project. I take slivers of quartz from the soul gems, taking them and carefully sticking them in a vial on my hip. It is the only way to control them; without a control rod they’ll only follow someone channeling through the soul gem directly. A bit like tricking someone to do something by convincing them they wanted to do it all along. I spark some magic through the glass, connecting with the gems with a quick blast.

They rev up to life, pouring steam out of their top and hopping down from the table. The normal start up phase continues; they move their legs, wave their pincers, and crane up then down. But when it goes to bow to me…

Flames pour out of the front.

To my face.

“Gah!” I recoil, jumping to the table and covering my face with my hands. 

“You okay?” Bishop leans against the wall. “I’d say ‘that’s what you get’, but…”

“Ow.” I pinch my nose, drinking part of a healing potion. “Ouchie!”

“Ouchie?”

“I’m the dragonborn. I breathe fire, eat souls, and say ‘ouchies’.” I argue, pushing off the table. “Though these poor guys only had their electricity reactors for so long. I would understand if they were mad. It’s not a very good  _ outlet  _ for their anger!”

“Stop it with the puns.”

“What are you going to do,  _ pun _ ish me?”

“You’ve used that one before.”

“...I don’t have any puns for reusing puns.” I pause. “...Regardless, I’m inde _ pun _ dent and do what I want.”

“Eh. Four points for effort, zero for annoyingness.”

“Dammit.” I curse, still trying to think of a pun for recycling. Bishop looks to the spiders, poking one with his foot. 

“So they’ll listen to you?” He kneels in front of one, glad when it doesn’t spit fire in its face.

“And they shouldn’t attack you unless I do.” I crack my knuckles. “They should be able to catch any loose falmer or chaurus around.”

“Whatever. Let’s get in and kill the thing.” He cracks open the door, looking in. “Does that mean there’s a way out around here?”

“Knowing how Skyrim generates its dungeons, yeah.” I shove open the door. “Laas!”

“And?”

“Well I can’t see the centurion, obviously. But the falmer… two on the side. That’s all.” I look to the spiders, letting them dash in first. “You and I can focus on the steam giant.”

“Sounds good.” He pulls an arrow, waiting for me to do the same. “Alright Ladyship, ready?”

“But of course, Ranger.” I smirk, stepping in and ignoring the angry grunts and spark noises coming from my right. I rush forward, taking in the room as I go; it’s an amphitheater, empty except for a few dwarven spires and a handful of urns. A lake dominates the back portion, with the automaton’s frame skewed off its gantry. 

Interesting. I wonder where the water came from?

I creep forward to the edge of the water. The water laps up to about the automaton’s mid thigh, so it won’t have an issue getting here. What does worry me is the amount of odd rust the metal has accumulated. I figured that the corundum was just generally rust proof in general, like gold or silver. What’s with this water? Or was something up with the purity of the metal?

Either way… the exit is around here and its in the way. Not to mention it has a load of things I want in that hollow chest. I draw my string back, aiming for just under the helm piece, praying I nick the soul gem that lays underneath. 

I shoot. And I miss. My arrow makes it under the helmet, but clangs into its bell-like headpiece noisily. Bishop, perched on the steps of the amphitheater behind me, curses and shoots an arrow of his own, cracking a leg shield. 

The automaton roars to life, eyes sparking in their lenses and the soul gem revving the dynamos to life. Steam pours out of its back as the gears grind-much too loud for my ears-in its body.

“Ladyship, where is its weak spot?” Bishop walks forward, watching the automaton study us, still waking up from its simulated REM sleep.

“I...don’t know. Frankly, I dunno if it has one.”

“Well, then I suppose we should just hack its gears to bits.” He fires off another arrow. “And don’t call me ‘Frankly’.”

“Stick to being a hardass and leave the jokes to me.” I comment, summoning a greatsword. My twin swords aren’t going to do much against this mass of metal, so at the very least I can try and cleave something in half. 

“Alright. I’ll go for the legs.” I walk forward. If it tries to spew steam at me, I’ll dive behind the spires. 

And right on cue...a pillar of steam sprays at me. I throw up a ward for a few moments until it shatters, and dive behind the spire during the lull. These things are tricky unless you can somehow disconnect the power source… Not to mention the resistance to magic and full resistance to poisons. Being made out of metal has its benefits.

There’s only two shouts that work well on dwarven machinery. Unrelenting Force, which wouldn’t help me at all here, and…

“ **KRII...LUN AUS!** ” I crack down, washing the automaton in cloak of purplish film that eats down at the metal. I nod to Bishop, darting out and wedging my sword into the automaton’s legs, trying to cleave off a few joints. It can’t lower its spring-loaded hammer and battleaxe to cut me off of it, so all the machine can do is-

Kick me.

Its foot raises backwards like a soccer player, scaring the wits out of me. I destroy my sword and jump up, grabbing hold of the automaton’s knee supports and clinging on for dear life. It kicks, and with it I release, using the force to fling me past where Bishop is.

I crash to the ground with a painful crack, feeling the dirt worm its way into my cheek.

“Rowan!?” Bishop calls, whirling around to make sure I was alright. I weakly give a thumbs up to him from the pile of dank moss I’ve landed in, not in much of a mood to get up.

“I’m...good…” I call. I groan and roll over, loosely planting a forearm under me to prop myself up. I’ll take the bruises over the broken bones I would have gotten if that kick had went through. These things are tricky to deal with. The dwarves made them as ultimate protectors, and centuries later they still guard the halls. Admirable, really. 

A heavy thump followed by a rip echoes, making me regain all strength and snap my gaze to the automaton. 

It had used the momentum from trying to kick me to charge at Bishop, catching him with the battleaxe while he tried to check on me. A gash crossed Bishop’s shoulder, straight through his leather armor. His bow clattered to the ground as he recoiled back, and after a few staggers backward he trips and hits his skull on accident.

“Bishop!” I leap to my feet, pulling out the soul gem vial and blasting the slivers. The spiders rev up again from where they had settled on the right, skittering towards the centurion and jumping to attack its weak joints. One hooks onto a shoulder piece, clipping both its shockers to the frame and zapping the larger machine with its full capacity, frying the connection on the right arm. The soul gem sputters in trying to reconnect and fails, and the hand with the battleaxe falls limp at the automaton’s side. “That’s better than expected.” I comment, standing over Bishop. I...don’t know if he has a head injury, but if he does, I can’t move him. Not yet.

I press my palms together and pull them apart, bouncing lightning between the two like a zappy game of pong. The second spider is still attacking fervently; he’s made a good distraction but I need to end this. Bishop is essentially unresponsive under me save for a few grunts and swears. Frying steam would be fatal without any way to dodge.

Once the second spider falls, I unleash all of my lightning, severing another connection to the feet. Only the left hand, then. It knees keel forward, the body maintaining its posture, but the centurion only has its left hammer to express any movement with. That and…

I hear the whistling of steam water being instantly vaporized and compressed.

My ward barely shields us as sweltering heat blasts past the two of us, raising the temperature of the room up a few degrees. The loose ground on both sides of us is sent back to kick up a dustorm this far underground. I pull up my tunic to cover my face, dropping my ward once it subsides and summoning a battleaxe. 

“Nice try, you fancy kettle.” I walk towards the kneeling machine, swinging the battleaxe back over my shoulder. It can’t move forward and needs time to recharge its holding tank to blow more hot air at me; I’m safe. I down a strength potion before I reach it, watching the hammer raise in a simple attack. I cleave the thing off its shoulder, and the gem barely registers the missing appendage before I shatter the head, yanking out the soul gem and dynamo core before kicking its body into the water.

“It’s dead?” Bishop coughs, trying to sit up.

“Never was alive. What’d you hit?”

“My head a bit. Was fuzzy for a moment.” Bishop sits up, wincing and with his right eye closed. He looks up to me. “Though the view was nice.” 

“...Hey.”

“I’m being honest.”

“What’s wrong with your eye? Temporarily blind?” I kneel next to him, closing the wound on his shoulder. “Your armor is toast. Bishop, you can’t just patch this up anymore. This wouldn’t stop a toothpick, let alone a battleaxe”

“I know, I know. Still, there’s no replacement.” He groans, straightening his quiver into his waist again. “There’s something in my eye. When I squeezed my eyes shut, it locked whatever it was against my iris.”

“So the thing that’s supposed to keep your eye safe screwed you over?”

“Ladyship don’t you dar-”

“How eyeronic.”

“Dammit.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I kneel next to him and loop his arm over my shoulder, slowly pulling him into a standing position. “You good?”

“Fine, yeah.” He coughs, rubbing his eye and finally opening it. “Are we at the end?”

“From the looks of it, this centurion was supposed to guard the lift.” I point to the small room, barely above the water. “That’s odd. I thought there was only a lift at Ralbthar, Alftand, and Mzinchaleft…”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“You don’t care about much.”

“There’s two people I care about, and one thing.”

“Uhhh…” I pause. “Your bow?”

“That’s the thing.”

“Every innkeeper who dispenses mead, and… all the people who make it.” I smirk, healing a scratch on his face. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You and Karnwyr, you stupid woman.” He exclaims, punching me lightly on the shoulder.

“Karnwyr isn’t a person! He’s an animal!”

“He’s a person to me.” Bishop says stubbornly, picking up one of his arrows from the soft dirt.

“So it’s more like a person, an animal, and a thing.” I point out. “And I’m on that list?”

“You just realized?” He rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t register, sorry.”

“I almost took on an entire village for you, and that’s all the recognition I get?” 

“Aw, poor baby.” I step towards the edge of the lake, looking out onto the water. “How do we get across?”  
“Swimming.” Bishop says finally. “You up for it?”

“Not really.” I crouch near the fallen dwarven spiders, hooking the soul gems back up. The connections had gotten loose when the cage rattled.

“Well, that’s your problem.” 

“How about you go first, Ranger?”

“Sure. If only so you get stranded over here alone, asking for me to help you.” He smirks, walking up to the water and diving in. 

I sit on the bank, looking to the emerald water and idly picking at a glowing mushroom. I throw away the bad bits, stuffing it into a bag to dry later. I move on to the next, not particularly interested in watching Bishop do freestyle over to the lift. He makes it with little trouble. He says a lot of brags and holds himself in high esteem; and in all truth he deserves it.

His body is obviously toned from repetitive battle. He can run for miles and switch right into combat. Hell, if he hunted with Karnwyr, that’d mean he could keep up running behind a wolf. Bishop doesn’t have to think about anything he throws himself into. He has both the muscle and skill to pull himself from any situation. He’s in his prime, but not from chance or youth. It’s been pulled from the depths of himself and forced to run alongside him through every battle he’s been in. Battle-tested is only the beginning of describing what he’s been through. 

As for a mage warrior hybrid like myself, I rely more on my head to avoid situations. Sure, I can haul myself up a stone wall when I need to, but why wouldn’t I just use the nearby lift and power it with a bit of electricity? There’s always a smart -and lazy- way to do things.

Like this!

I spark the soul gem slivers again, looking to the dwarven spires. The spiders rush over, connecting their front arms to a part of the design and triggering a part of the mechanism. A bridge rises from the water, shedding in thick waves as it clicks into place with the spires and the lift, giving me a slightly slippery way across. 

“What-!” I hear Bishop holler.

“Man, swimming is tough!” With my spider entourage I walk across, joining the soaking wet Bishop on the lift. “I’m glad I don’t have to do it.”

“How’d you-” He growls, shaking his soggy head in disbelief. Though underneath the wet hair, I can see he’s grinning.

“Yep. Come on. Admit I’m smart.”

“You’re a huge fucking nerd.”

“Right you are!” I confirm, yanking the lever to go to the surface. 


	35. Out of Booze, not Boos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of explicit stuff in italics, so if that isn't your thing, just skip it. If not, then, well... sin for the win?

“Man, I am ready to sleep…” Bishop comments as we’re lifted back into the snow.

“Tired? Already?” I look up. “I guess it is afternoon...and we did fight a centurion…”

“Where are the damn horses?” He grabs me, pressing me to his side for warmth. He starts whistling while we walk out of the ruins, covering us both in his cloak and baring down in his armor.

A shaggy wolf comes out from behind a snow drift, panting despite the cold and striding right up to us.

“Nice to see you, Karnwyr, but you’re not the one I’m looking for…” He mutters.

“Long time no see, pup!” I say cheerily, scratching the top of Karnwyr’s head as we walk towards the entrance of the ruins. “Bishop, we may need to find a nice place to hunker down for the night…” Karnwyr nips at my hand playfully, softly yapping at my reappearance. He makes a figure eight around my legs, weaving in and out between me and Bishop enthusiastically.

“No, we need to find the horses.” He whistles louder, looking around at the snow covered plains. “Why are our horses gray!?”

“Because we are not smart people.” I whistle too, picking a sizeable stone off the pathway we’re on.

“What’s that?” He looks down at my hands. “Oh. Rock.”

“Indeed.” I cover it with both hands, pressing a few long blasts of fire magic to the piece of stone. My fingers enjoy the warmth of the stone, but I begrudgingly pass it to Bishop for him to press his fingers to.

He takes it curiously, and then accepts it wholeheartedly once he feels the heat coming off of it. It disappears into his cloak, probably to accompany him in a pocket so he can hold his fingers near its warmth.

“Thanks.” He expresses his gratitude without looking over to me, squinting to the path ahead of us. “Tell me if I’m crazy, but that’s the two idiots up there, right?” I crane my neck too, blinking snowflakes from my eyelashes as I look ahead. I see some grey splotches blocking my view of a snowberry tree, possible shaped like the rear end of a horse.

“I think they may be our idiots.” I pat Karnwyr. “The wolf is the only one who’s smart here.”

“Yeah, he probably ate a rabbit and found a comfy overhang...meanwhile, I swam through some water and went into the cold!”

“Nords are not known for being clever.” I blast another rock I find, handing it to him.

“Are you trying to help me, or weight me down? My hair is still wet. Give me all the hot rocks you want, it won’t help.”

“Well fine, if you’re going to be a bitch about it…” I dig in my pack, pulling out the washcloth I use to keep my my vials from clinking into each other. I hand him the towel to dry his hair, and promptly spark a medium sized fire in my palm to hold in front of us. I can’t sustain this amount of magic for too long, but with any amount of Stendarr’s forgiveness, we’ll be out of this cold soon enough.

We reach the two horses, Ashes looking to me with glee. She bucks and breaks her lead free of Gradient, stamping her feet in recognition and padding over to me. Her nose is cold as she sticks it against my warm shoulder, snuffing my armor testily as if admonishing me for being gone so long.

“Yeah yeah, I have food for you.” I feed her a carrot, throwing one to Gradient too. Bless my ice wraith pack; it means I can keep at least some fresh food for the horses even this far away from a farm.

“Shall we find somewhere to hunker down?” Bishop hooks his foot in the stirrup, yanking himself into his saddle shoddily. “I need to sleep…”

“I can’t believe you’re this tired after just a centurion.” I climb up into the saddle, shaking the reins so we go to a slow trot.

“I don’t know. I was tired in the ruins, but it just got way worse all of a sudden.”

“Guess the accelerated healing took something out of you, old man.” I tease.

“I’m only two years older than you!” He pauses. “Right?”

“Twenty two. Though I may have had a birthday by now.”

“Yeah. Two years older...sorta. Maybe three.” He leans back. “Know your birthday?”

“Nope.” I smirk. “Though with a bit of coin, every day is a birthday!”

“We really need to get your drinking in check.” Bishop sighs, pulling Gradient to trot next to me. He hands a rock back to me, patiently waiting for me to blast it and hand it back to him.

“Bah, it’s fine.” I slowly push the spiced wine bottle I was drinking from back into Ash’s pouch. I’d rather not give him more fodder because he’d probably have a point. “Now...where are we going to sleep tonight?”

“I don’t know. I think there’s a cave up North. At the very least we need out of these mountains…” Bishop droops in his saddle a bit, catching himself by Gradient’s neck. His eyes are nearly closed, and his hands loosely grip the leather strap in his hand. “Almost in High Rock and all…”

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Probably should have asked earlier, but you aren’t looking good, Bishop.” He perks up a bit to prove me wrong.

“Fine.” He scowls a bit, scooting forward in the saddle. “I’m just a bit damn tired, that’s all. I’ll be fine once I eat and get some sleep.”

“Just tired?” I stare at his cleanly shaven face, still looking for any sort of weakness he’s left exposed.

“Just tired.” He confirms.

“Well...alright.” Against my better judgement we press on.

…

“This’ll do.” I comment as we see a small pocket in between two sections of rock. A shallow cave is better than nothing. I whistle, stopping our horses and hopping off the saddle; I need to check this place out first. Since it’s the only cave around, it wouldn’t surprise me if some cave bear had decided to take up residence. “I’ll check real fast.”

“Not without me...” He slowly swings himself down, hitting the snow with a rigid thump. Karnwyr sticks near his thigh, looking into the darkness.

“Protective.” I tease, looking over to my shoulder. I place the horses at the sheltered alcove that was eroded into the entrance, snorting as they both immediately settle down and tuck their legs under their bodies. “You guys look like sausages.” I tell the horses.

“You’re hungry.” Bishop tugs at the back of my armor, motioning for me to follow him. I ignore his attempt, immediately pressing forward in front of him and summoning a candlelight to see farther than he can.

“Weaklings in the back.” I call, looking into the crevice. “Weird…” The cave tapers out into a cavern formed by a retreating iceberg, jaggedly sliced out of the belly of the rock. Small rooms and partitions where the ice had forced riddle the back portion, seemingly untouched by man or mer.

“You can say that again.” Bishop watches on as I shoot a few magelights around the front room. “Something’s wrong if even animals don’t nest in here.”

“But do we really have much better?” I argue, kicking some stray pebbles from my foot. “You’re sick, Bishop. If anything comes back I’ll take care of it. We’re only staying the night. I’ll get your stuff from Gradient. Sit.”

“I’m not sick...” He mutters, looking up. “And I can get my own stuff.”

“Stubborn man.” I call, walking outside and returning, laden with our bags. “Sit. I’ll go get some firewood.”

“Not without me. The snow’s picking up, and-”

“Sit.” I toss his bedroll down, placing mine next to his. I heat up a rock again, pressing it into his hands and forcing him to sit. As soon as he’s resting on a platform that isn’t moving he droops a bit; the man’s ill.

“At least take Karnwyr with you…”

“Sit.” I command again. “Why are you so scared?”

“I’m not scared, Ladyship; now quit being stupid and take the damn wolf!” He snarls, using his last bit of energy to display agitation. Odd… Even for him, this is a bit snippety. Karnwyr whines from my feet and presses into my leg, signaling he’s going with me. Fine. That’s alright. I strap on my pack, setting Bishop’s next to him and set down my waterskin in his lap. “I don’t need this.”

“Shut up.” I spit back, walking back out into the snow. I use my hand as a visor as I look around, searching for anything in the pale wasteland.

(To the tune of ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’)

♪It’s beginning to look a-lot like fuck this~♪

♪Bullllllshit everywhere...♪

♪Take a look at the rivers and glens♪

♪It’s this shit once again~♪

Karnwyr barks at something to my side suddenly. I spin, bow in hand, searching for whatever’s in the snow, but I see nothing. Am I just blind? Is there snow in my eyes? For a second I thought I saw movement, but it’s probably just from Karnwyr making me believe something’s there.

“It’s nothing, boy.” I calm him down, still scanning the side of the hill. We’re in a glacial canyon, with dark grey rock on either side of us; if something was in this damn box canyon, I’d be able to see it. Now, what was I doing again?

Firewood. Right.

There are a few sparse spruce trees around the upper rim of the canyon. The two of us trudge up the hill, Karnwyr getting sidetracked halfway through and of course running off to chase a fox that was taunting him from up the slope.

It’s a beautiful day, but Bishop’s correct. I think the snow is picking up. He has an acute guessing skill when it comes to the weather. Those years of living outside as a mercenary and as a ranger attuned him to these sorts of things. But he still seems off today, and I can’t quite figure out why. He’s sick, obviously; the cold and the environment underground never pairs well with exertion. Though if it’s just a cold, it shouldn’t be as severe. I can’t think of any illness that’s similar to a fever that has delayed symptoms like it seems Bishop has. He’s acting frigidly; most likely from feeling ill, but other than that he doesn’t share much with the common illness. And of course I don’t have my notebook to try and figure out what it is.

I stop at a snowberry bush, picking off the ripe berries and packing them into their respective jar. Once we get to the next town, I’ll need to do some serious potion making. I have an abundance of ingredients yet lack in the finished product, and of course it’s always useful to make a bit of coin. My coin purse was empty for obvious reasons once I got it back, so in all rights my entire fortune is gone. All I still have are my titles,a ton of potion ingredients and potions, a spare tunic and pair of britches, an elven dagger, my armor, my jewelry, and some food. Not exactly enough to sustain myself for any length of time should I have to.

Speaking of sustaining, I need to make Bishop some better armor. That trash armor of his is going to be the death of him; he may have made it himself, but any idiot can stitch two pieces of cloth together and call it a blanket. I’m not happy that’s all he’s had one for all this time, and I know I can make him something better. The only issue is convincing him that I can…

What should I make him?

A good pair of glass armor would serve him well, though I’d have to adjust the normal shape it usually has. The clunky spaulders wouldn’t suit him well. Neither would the high collar. Knowing him, the only reason he hasn’t switched to another set of armor is because he’s most mobile in leather, but I think I may be able to match that if I set up some tiered scaling correctly…

I would have to make it so it’d sit on his muscles cleanly. His body is quite chiseled, so I wouldn’t have much trouble with it…

His body.

My mind flashes back to the lake, with his arms wrapped around my waist, our chests pressed together, and with a hand hooked under my…

And with that, my face is no longer cold.

In retrospect, between that and Cael’s sojourn with me, there’s no contest on who I’d rather...give myself to. The static between us in the water as he gently guided me out, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, nearly too hot to touch… Like ice touching fire, he’s pretty damn good at melting me. It’d be nice if I could just rest my head on his shoulder like at the lake, his arms wrapped around my waist and holding my thigh...

_He’d dip down, taking a breast and slowly sink me to the bed, dragging a hand from my waist to shoulder. He’d begin to kiss me and then drag them down my collarbone, distracting me while he slowly grazes the inside of my thighs, slowly working down to my sex. I moan and push against him more, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and bringing him to me for a kiss, letting him fully brace himself on the bed and take my lips again._

_He massages my soft flesh, smirking as I yelp into his mouth from the contact. I jump a bit, trying to relieve the pressure, but Bishop holds me still with a forearm and parts my legs with his thigh. I feel something press against me and I twist my neck, stiffening and gripping to his back for support as I feel the heat in my core rise. My legs wrap around his waist tightly, and he unravels my fingers and pins my hands above me, marking my collarbone._

_My back arches and I shudder, curling my toes as I feel his body press into me further, his breath against my skin as we both sigh at the contact._

_“Rowan…” He breathes, kissing my neck again._

_“Gods Bishop, just…” I brace into him, feeling him push into me. I curl up, gasping at the force-_

The hell was that? Rude. I was starting to get into that.

I’m cut out of my daydream by something darting out of my vision. I hadn’t even noticed it was there at first, or perhaps it was just too still for me to see? What was that? I whirl around, looking for whatever it was. It was too large to be a fox, but seemed to just disappear so I have nothing to go on about its features. Maybe a very small bear? Or perhaps a big wolf? I don’t even want to say it, but I’ve heard rumors of them being around here. I wonder if the werebears actually exist. I’ve only run into werewolves, who are usually absolutely terrible at fighting in their form, so I wonder if they have the same issue. That were is probably why there’s nothing living in this area, save for a few skittish animals.

I reach the trees, looking around for anything dry. When I find a tree with a hollow, I kneel next to it, pulling out the dry brush that lays within. A few dry leaves for tinder, some sticks and twigs… still nothing substantial.

I carry the small things carefully, wandering through the crescent of trees. I’m looking for some source of dry firewood...it’s nearly impossible out here where everything’s soaked from snow or frozen.

Karnwyr finally gets his act together, trotting over to me like a show horse.

“Welcome back. I don’t suppose you can find some firewood?” I ask him, patting the top of

his head as I walk. He yawns and stretches, angling himself towards the setting sun. I groan; I hope I make it back before it gets bitterly cold. I trudge onward, reaching large snowbanks.

I go to walk through one, when my boot hits something solid and I slip forward, throwing snow into the air with my impact.

“Shite!” I swear, picking myself up. I wipe the snow off whatever it is, finding a fallen tree under the snowbank. This’ll do.

I summon a battleaxe, skinning the tree of bark and biting the axe into the dry underwood.

“This is a pain in the axe!” I sigh, blowing my breath into my gauntlets to warm my fingers. I continue to chop through the tree until I cut off a good portioned slice, and I eighth that. That’s enough for now. If we’re only staying the night, it should last us.

I wonder what’s under the other snowbanks?

Even though my hands are full, I still decide to totter over to the closest one, nudging off some snow from the top. Sure enough, another fallen tree lies under it.

Weird…

I go to the next, clearing off the snow. Another fallen tree, around the same size as the other two.

“Karnwyr, something’s going on.” I say, looking around to the leafless branches around me. This place just got a hell of a lot creepier. I pivot on my feet, my left foot sliding farther than it should and cracking under my weight. I yelp and leap away from whatever it was, setting down the wood on top of my pack so it doesn’t get wet. The hell was that!? I heal my ankle, setting it and pushing some magic into the joint so it fixes its position. I roll my ankle. I guess it’s okay.

Now for whatever is under the snow…

I clear off where I slipped, confused when I see my own reflection shoddily broadcasted back to me. I wipe off the object further, picking it up only to find it extends much further than I cleared. It’s an old handsaw, the kind that lumberjacks use to saw through trees.

I guess someone left in a hurry.

A chill goes down my spine as I grab the firewood again, motioning for Karnwyr to come a bit closer. I don’t know this place well at all. To fight something here would spell an untimely death, especially when I’m carrying something. A surprise attack may end me.

“Be on the lookout.” I tell the wolf. He just looks up at me lazily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he’s pleased with himself. “Did you seriously catch that fox?”

His smugness tells me everything.

“You monster.” I shake my head, adjusting the firewood in my hands and descending down the mountain. It’s just about dark; the dusken twilight sits just over the mountains. “Fuckin’ dark, ainnit?”

That’s when it touched me. I felt a gentle hand tug at the back of my hair, chilling me to the bone as I whirl around to air. I swear it dragged its fingers down the back of my neck... !

Both me and Karnwyr freeze, staring at each other and both acknowledging something a bit bigger than ourselves. I whirl around, finding nothing, and I gather my firewood like a cup stacker competition and bolt off towards the cave.

...

I scare the horses by bursting through a snow drift, Karnwyr hot on my heels, and we both screech to a halt outside the cave. I hold my breath for a few seconds and exhale for a few more to get it regulated, and then walk in with the firewood.

“I’m back.” I call. Bishop is on his bedroll dozing, but at my voice he sits up and looks over.

“I told you the snow would pick up...” He says absentmindedly, watching me set the firewood down and build a cone blankly.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re paler than normal, Ladyship.” He takes a drink of water. “I can smell these things.”

“If only you could smell yourself…” I tease, too shaken to think of a good reply. I warm my hands, sitting on the bedroll next to him.

“I think that’s you rubbing of on me, not the other way around. You’re the one who cuddles up next to me as soon as you fall asleep.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in my own bedroll from now on.” I fill the pot from my bag with snow, setting it near the cone to melt into drinking water. I open the flap to my sleeping bag, tucking my legs inside for warmth as I start the fire.

“Hey, I never said I was complaining.”

“You just did!”

“Did not!” He huffs, unbuttoning the side of his bedroll. “Now come here, Rowan.”

“What’s up with you?” I scoot over, joining our bedrolls. I take the spot closest to the fire, while he prefers the outskirts. Stupid nord blood. When I settle down in, my fingers brush against his arm, and I nearly recoil at his touch.  “Gods man, you’re on fire!”

“Huh?” He asks.

“I just grazed you!” I press my hand to his forehead, wincing at the heat. “Your fever wasn’t nearly this bad when I left. Get to sleep. **Now.** ”

“Eat and then I’ll sleep…” He yawns, tossing some dried meat to Karnwyr. “I’m... so tired.”

“Got that.” I pull out a half of bread, stuffing it in my face and washing it down with water. I’m fresh out of mead; something that will need to be fixed real soon. “I’m almost out of food.” I say bitterly. “And I’m all out of booze!”

“Ah…” Bishop replies.

“Bishop?” I blink, my vision snapping from the roof of the cave to him. He’s dozing off, too tired to even hold himself up anymore. I’d let him sleep, but he’s drifted outside of the damn bed. “Bishop!”

“Huh?” He asks, stuffing himself fully in his bedroll now. “Wha…?” I can see it’s whatever illness that’s taken him. I don’t know what the hell is affecting him so severely; we’ve both been sick on the road but it’s never made us incoherent.

I scoot forward and sit cross-legged, letting him set his head down on my lap.

“Just sleep, dumbass.” I call, pushing the hair from his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, only reaches his hand out of his bedroll, letting me intertwine my hand with his, setting it gently next to his side.

...

I sit like that for an hour, staring straight ahead at the entrance to the cave. Bishop’s fast asleep, but I doubt I could rest after what transpired on the mountain. Karnwyr’s oblivious to what happened to us; he’s asleep across Bishop’s feet. I sit with my last bottle of mead in my lap, slowly warding off the chill. I lied a bit; _this_ is my last bottle.

So...what’s on this mountain? A werebear? Or something similar? Do they have were-sabrecats?

Talking about waking my ghost… I’m really too scared to even move. Bishop’s sick. Extremely sick. If some werebear were to jump us, I don’t know if I could fight them off. Probably couldn’t. So all I can do is stare at the grey jagged strip in front of me, while keeping the fire from dying off. I’m exhausted.

“Don’t go…” He mutters under his breath, weakly. He keeps speaking in his sleep. I see his eyes flicker open slowly, but they don’t focus on anything in particular. “Rowan…!” He calls. Gods, he thinks the shadow of the fire is me walking away.

“I’m right here Bishop. It’s the fire.” I say, squeezing his hand. “Go back to sleep. You’re okay.” To my left sits my bow, and to my right lays Bishop, still muttering something under his breath. This limbo is hell.

“Rowan you can’t.” He whispers.

“Yes I can. Quit dreaming about me.” I roll my eyes. Damn these fever dreams. “I’m not leaving. I’m right here. It’s okay.” I take a cloth from my pack, laid down at my side, and drench it in water, laying it across his forehead. He swallows once the cool fabric covers him, hopefully bringing down his fever. Even in the cold, he’s hot to the touch, like a dulled coal. I’m scared. So damn scared.

He’s mumbling something, but it seems it’s caught in his throat. He can’t manage to get out the words. Instead, he’s only fumbling words, gripping my hand like Molag Bal is trying to rip me away. 

“It’s alright.” I call again, hoping my voice reaches him. I tug the edge of the bedroll up to his collarbone again, praying it stays for a time. I don’t know what to do. All these years of treating illness after injury, and I have no idea what’s happening. Rattles? Maybe from the Falmer. But it developed too quickly; it normally takes a month for symptoms to fully surface. Ataxia? No, he may have a high fever, but we haven’t been around frostbite spiders or skeevers. ...Witbane? Except the stiffness and aching he feels isn’t the same. Witbane affects the mind until it goes crazy, and while he did seem a bit on edge and anxious, he’s not sputtering to himself about a secret race of sky mer who built the pyramids in Elsweyr. 

“No…” He groans, his head rolling to the side. “Not them…” That must be about his time as a mercenary.

“Bishop, it’s a bad dream. You are safe.” I sense him about to awaken, and I cover his eyes with my hand, slowly trying to coax him into a dreamless sleep. 

Of course that doesn’t shut him up. Nothing I tried would. The ranger spoke until dawn finally crested the entrance to the cave, relieving me of my vigil. We need to get to the nearest town, and fast. And unfortunately, that nearest town is the beautiful bastion of misery, Markarth.


	36. Breaking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, more damn romance. Trust me guys, it's been a while for me too.

Now what? Bishop is still asleep. I don’t want to move, but I need to. I don’t want to wake him, but I need to. What do I do!? I know one thing, I guess. I replace the cloth on his head, mulling over my options. Bishop is just as hot as he was before; a full night’s rest hasn’t cleared up any issues for us. I can’t treat this with potions; I don’t have the capacity to hold the ingredients it takes for long periods of time. The only one I could maybe hold on me are white tern feathers, and I’ve only seen terns on Solstheim; their feathers are rare. 

I bundle up my pack, stuffing my tunic and breeches to the top so it’s a slightly pillowed surface. I lift my leg slowly, wedging my pack under me so I can slowly move back, and gently set Bishop’s head on the pack. I kneel beside him, slowly staring at his sleeping face, now pained as illness twists his dreams. 

The situation is dire. There’s something I can’t identify haunting the slopes, and there’s no way to guarantee I wasn’t followed back to the cave. The snow may have covered our tracks, but if a were was tracking me, he’d have no trouble finding this place. My partner is sick with an affliction I can’t identify despite my years of experience with the healing arts. We’re nearly out of food and supplies, so we can’t stay put; not to mention we’re easy targets here. The crevice doesn’t have a back exit. Fuck…!

I stand, putting the last log on the fire. The coals break and cinders rise for a few moments, only to be snuffed out by the cold. It’s freezing. My gauntlets do nothing for the chill, and I don’t even have a damn cloak anymore. It wasn’t in my pack, and wasn’t at the village, so now I’m stranded in the cold. Bishop’s is laying on his bedroll, where it will stay. I need his fever to break. 

Do I risk it outside? If I get jumped, and get injured or die, Bishop will perish too. But we need firewood. And we need to get out of here. 

This place is too  _ ice-solated  _ to run _. _

Dammit, not the time.  _ Snow  _ more jokes until we’re out of this.

Again!? Okay. Serious time.

Should I risk it? If it really is a werebear, perhaps I can reason with it. 

Unless they’ve gone crazy, which they do tend to do. The companions frequently receive requests to snuff out one of their own. Aela and the brothers can never bring themselves to do it, so I normally volunteer. I’m not a werewolf. Never will be. When I was brought to the underforge, I declined as ceremoniously as I could, but assured them I would continue to be a companion and keep their secret. I don’t see it as a disease as the Vigilants do, but to me, it’s a double-edged sword that would only hinder my life. Become a hulking wolf of shaggy black, with daggers for claws, but sell your soul to Hircine. I’ve dealt with the daedra and aedra, I’ve become their champion before; but I’ll never fully link my soul to them like that. 

Those that do, and later regret it, usually shun themselves to the fringes of society, taking residence in caves or crypts, slowly biding their days. A few join the wolf packs and forever stay in their wolf form. But sooner or later, the isolation gets to them and they snap. ‘Rabid’ doesn’t begin to describe it. A were in their right mind is dangerous enough; they may be defenseless, but that isn’t your first thought when one is barrelling at you at thirty miles an hour, faster than the hounds used to hunt them. Their seven foot stride, claws that give them grip on the scraggly slopes; and how once they consume the hearts of others, they shed their fatigue as if it was nothing.

I can beat a werewolf. Most of them are awkward fighters when they change unexpectedly; especially when they go from being little over five feet high to seven. I’ve done it time and time again through careful hunting and controlled combat that never lets them get close. But werebears… I shudder to think how much larger and aggressive they must be. And they don’t stem from society; they have settlements all to themselves. They aren’t going to be overswinging and tottering when they fight me. 

My eyes snap to Karnwyr as he begins snoring.

“You barely compare to your human kin.” I sigh, standing. 

The horses whinny outside, rising to their feet and slashing their tails as their heads swing. What’s going on? I summon two swords, taking them in my hand and walking to the entrance. It could be a damn spider, come to annoy the horses.

I lean out the entrance, looking to the two grey logs sitting under the overhang in the entrance. They must still be mad they couldn’t come in the cave, but they’d get claustrophobic pretty quickly. Always do.

“What’s going on?” I look around. The entire world is in tones of grey, from the white snow, to ashen sky, to the charcoal rocks that lay in the background. And then...some blue- but it isn’t the sky.

Whatever it is pops into existence suddenly. I guess I’m seeing things; I did just stay up all night. What is that supposed to be? It’s just a little ball, floating around on my vision, lazily doing loops on the snow. But it’s floating. And it’s blue. Ish.

I tilt my head, squinting in the dull light. The hell is it? It looks like a damn blue creme tart flying around. Except much less delicious looking. I think I’m hungry...

I continue watching it look around as if searching for something. It twists this way and that, its ghost like tail a candle flame, but a fiery azure. It’s beautiful, in a grotesque way.

Did it just look at me?

The tail swings behind its body, and it snakes my way for a moment before stopping again, staring at me. Or at least would be, if it had eyes. 

A few moments pass, and I’ve won the staring contest; the thing breaks into a million ice shards. I know breaking a mirror is bad luck, but what about an ice beast?

“Well that wasn’t very  _ ice _ .” I pause. “Dammit!” I pause, wondering if it’d fix itself, but it stays dead. “Dunno what that was about, but…” I turn to tend to Bishop again.

I hear a dull hissing noise like ice cracking and splitting, and whirl around just in time to see whatever creature it is inches from my nose. The horses cry and whinny more, getting to their feet and stomping, backing into their crevice as far as they can go. But the wraiths weren’t after them. 

“Shit…!” I swear, getting knocked to the cold floor. The air is forced from my lungs, and I struggle to scramble to my feet, even with my boots on. I summon a bow and spin around, shooting the wraith with an arrow just as ghostly as it. “The hell? How’d it get over here?”

I study the crystalline body that fell right in front of Bishop’s bedroll. He said something else that I didn’t quite catch, but I’m too entranced by this thing to check. It has a frozen outer shell, with a glowing interior that doesn’t put out any heat. Glow dust? I summon a sword and crack it open, scooping a bit of the interior between my thumb and forefinger. Yup, glow dust.

A thump to the head sends me to a kneeling position, forcing my head to nearly touch my lap as I grunt under the blow. I summon my bow again only to shoot down another wraith, bouncing lifeless against the wall and rolling to my feet.

“What is going on here…” I breathe, rubbing the back of my head. I turn towards the cave’s entrance, watching in horror as three more wraiths snake in and pause in the doorway, icy bones crackling. “The hell!?” I shoot an arrow at the middle one, not driving the arrow deep enough to kill it. It ducks and dips wildly for a moment before steadying itself, joining the other three in battering themselves against my body.

I yelp in surprise as I feel a rib crack painfully, and strike out bare-handed to punch the wraith away. I succeed, only to hear my fingers crack too. I bat them away long enough to stomp one into the cave floor, glancing nervously to Bishop-still asleep, like the horker he is-and get sent backwards as punishment. One drives itself into my shoulder, stumbling me towards the entrance to the cave. I can’t fight these things in close quarters, not with Bishop there…!

I summon a dagger and swing again, barely scratching the ice on a wraith. It hurls itself at me like a damn bludger from Harry fucking Potter, slamming me to the cave wall. My vision goes blurry for a few moments and I roll to the ground, looking up towards the wraiths. 

I swear again and summon fire to my palm, blasting one into oblivion and knocking it lifeless into the wall. I spring to my feet as the other rams itself into my back, stumbling me forward further. 

And then time stopped.

I straighten myself up, bracing for another hit from the wraith. But it doesn’t come; instead, something else does. Ice crystals freeze the cave walls and creep into the space in front of me. The moisture in the air instantaneously freezes like a blight, a wall of sub-zero mist slowly making its way inside. The wall splits before it reaches me, curling daintily to both sides of me like the tail of a regal cloak. In the doorway stands a beautiful woman, with skin as pale as the first snowfall, and piercing soft blue eyes that make me freeze...no pun intended.

I swallow hard, the one action I can bring myself to do, as the muslin wrappings slowly work their way across her body in no particular order. She holds her hands at her sides like a mage, two frost spells in her grasp; but I know what they’d summon. She’s where the wisps were coming from. But she’s too captivating, I can’t say a word… Her hood and cloak are made of snow, softly fluttering around her wrappings and curling itself around her feet like a ghost. 

I’m stood, dumbfounded in front of her, with time around us stopped. I no longer see the sword in my hand, or the entrance to the cave… it’s only her and I in this lovely world. The light coming from behind her makes her seem like a goddess reincarnated, daintily framing the deity with a halo. 

She reaches her hand out, dropping the spell and brushing her palm against my cheek, holding the back of my head tenderly. I would normally flinch and recoil at the touch and strike out, but my body is so calm I let her touch me. Her thumb tenderly drags along my cheek, tilting my chin up so she can look into my eyes deeper. I exhale in awe, my breath forming a soft sigh of fog in front of me. She’s beautiful...

“Rowan!” An arrow whizzes through the wispmother, breaking the spell she had on me. I blink as her ethereal body bends around the projectile, stumbling back as I realize what’s happened. My boot catches on the body of one of the wraiths and I fall with a low whimper, my body still coming out from her trickery. Bishop fires off more arrows as I try and lift myself from the floor in vain; she had me paralyzed. I can’t move on my own; the only action I can manage is that which comes from reflex. I’ll still breathe, but there’s not much else I can do now…

“Stupid ice ghost...go back to whatever lonely yeti made you!” Bishop snarls, taking chunks from the wispmother. She needs energy to maintain that form, and by making her rebuild herself over and over...Bishop’s draining her at an alarming rate. After a few more she decides to ditch her effort to claim two more people to the icy void, and turns away with a shriek, dashing back off into the snow. 

“Rowan!” He kneels beside me, rolling me onto my back. 

“...Just _ -ice _ was served...” I manage to cough out.

“Seriously? I should have just let her abduct you.” Bishop breathes, chest heaving from the exertion. “Looks like both of us are sick now.”

“I’ll be fine...in a moment. Spell needs to break...” I flip onto my stomach, slowly hauling myself to my hands and knees, head hanging low. “Hells…” 

“What happened?”

“Just...wisps are fucking stupid.” I finally unfurl myself, sitting loosely cross-legged in front of him. “The question is...how do you feel?”

“You almost got abducted by some snow fairy thing, and you ask me if I’m okay?” He sighs, scratching his neck. “Ladyship, I really think you need to get your priorities straight.” 

“So how do you feel?” I ignore him.

“Better...but it seems so hard to move…” He tries to get to his feet, but it’s too much effort for him now that the moment’s passed. I stand and help him get his balance, slowly shifting him so he can lean into the wall. “My joints ache, and they don’t budge easy.”

“Maybe you’re a really small centurion, and you’ve run out of oil.” I hand him a waterskin and the last of our bread.

“Funny.”

“Are you good enough to ride?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine, what the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“I can ride. Sleep will fix me eventually.” He says indignantly. “Quit worrying about me. It’s weird.”

“Weird?” I sigh. “It isn’t weird. We’re partners, Bishop.” I turn away from him, poking the coals with a stick to bring them back to life.

“...Only partners?” He says, quietly sending a shockwave through the room. Karnwyr, formerly still asleep, looks to both of us like a kid in an 80s sitcom. I nearly jump, the stick falling out of my hand and landing straight into the coals. 

“Well…” I start.

“Ladyship, don’t bullshit me. It’s been torment since I got you back.” He snaps, crossing his arms despite the strain.

“Bishop, you’re sick. We can discuss this later-”

“No. Now.” His eyes turn unruly and his gaze becomes that of when we first met. “What am I to you? Something for you to dote on? Just a partner, or…?” His eyes looked hunted. This has been bothering him for a long, long time…

I meet his eyes, thinking over what we’ve done in this time. I met him...ten months ago, roughly, and since then, he’s become such an intricate part of my life, there’s no way I could replace him. From him scaring the bejeebies out of me at Clearspring Tarn, to teaching me to swim, to our time on the top of Markarth… every good memory I have involves him. 

I do love him; that’s been true since he came to get me at Markarth. But in all truth, I had hoped it would fade eventually so I could just let us stay like this; I don’t exactly do well with love. I rush into it too fast. That was pretty obvious with Apolinus and Cael. But…

“I…” I start to say. But he’s decided to take on the role of the aggressor. 

“What am I to you?” 

“What happened in your dream to bring this on?”

“Something I’ve been thinking about for a while.” 

“Yeah?” I summon a sword, stabbing it in the stone so I can lean on it. The trance hasn’t fully faded. “Bishop, I have a question…”

“So do I-”

“Answer mine first.” 

“Shoot.”

“When you look at me, what do you see?” I cross my fingers over the pommel of my sword. Let’s see where he’s at… Depending on his answer, I may slam him into the wall or kiss him. 

He mulls the question over for a bit, staring me down with a look much more thoughtful than I would have expected. I bite my lip in hesitation. What is he thinking about? The silence is killing me here. But I stand my ground; leaning on my sword and matching his gaze, unwavering.

“I see a blond dragonborn, looking regal in her armor and a bit like she wants to slap me.” He flops with his reply. “But...what I see isn’t very important.”

“Huh?” I blink. “Bishop, I swear-”

“Instead, in front of me stands a teacher, a silversmith, and a restless heart who I know I can trust to watch my back. I see someone who makes me feel secure even when we’re in a city with god knows who. It doesn’t matter if your hair is pulled back in a braid or wild around your face; I don’t care if you’re in armor, it doesn’t matter if you’re in a dress or breeches and boots. But I love you, and I love being around you, to the point where I’d rather run head first into an army of the undead than leave your damn side. I know the last thing you want right now is another mistake, and I’m fine with things as they are, but gods damn it hurts to sleep next to you without having heard you say it.”  

“Bishop…” I bite my lip. I didn’t think I’d be swayed by his words, but damn that was quite good. Much better than the ‘you’re beautiful and I love your personality’ spiel. I’ll take it. I feel my heart thump a bit louder and my face heat up, but I shake my head from side to side to hide it.

“Ladyship, you’re red.” Nevermind. Not hiding it well. 

“Screw it.” I sigh, walking up and taking his face in my hands. I press him gently against the wall, taking his lips myself. His hands clasp behind my waist as he presses me against him, sighing in relief as he relaxes, our breath lingering together due to the proximity. I tug at his bottom lip, smirking as he chuckles lowly, switching his grip to run a hand up along my side, settling it at the bottom of my waist. “And I see a man who I’d stake my life on, and who goes deeper than just what his appearance says he is. A man who is loyal, trustworthy, and caring even if he hates my puns. Now listen well, Ranger…”

He says nothing, instead pulling away and staring into my eyes with a hungry amber stare. A low rumbling comes from him as he breathes out, the corners of his lips curling into a content smile, like a wolf who’s gotten exactly what he wants. I pause to meet his gaze, swallowing as I smile at myself; this is stupid. It feels like the first time I’ve ever said these three words even though I’ve said them plenty of times. Except all those times before seemed so superficial. I’d take an arrow for this man anyday, and he’d do the same; and despite both of us struggling to pull away we still somehow ended up here. 

“I love you.” I finally say, scoffing at the words as they finally tumble out. I bit my lip, looking for his reaction, the laugh, the jeer, but he only stares back. 

“Finally.” He sighs, pushing back up to me suddenly and taking my mouth with a renewed passion. He barely lets me breathe as he taunts me, cradling my neck and twisting his fingers through my hair, making sure I’m not leaving without his permission. He’s tired of what little I’ve given before; he intends to push me as far as he wants now. I can barely hold onto him to keep myself steady. I grip to the front of his tunic for dear life, twisting my hands to bring us closer together, plunging ourselves together as I inhale to keep me conscious. He smells like deep pine, intermingled with leather and crisp leaves. I can’t stand the heat between us, coming off of his skin, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Instead, he’s content with just burning my cool skin with how passionate he is about this; dipping into my mouth for a few moments to drive me crazy, then slowly coaxing me back, only to drive my sanity even further as his hands drag down the exposed skin of my arms. I shudder against him, but he holds me tight; slowly bringing me down from the ecstasy.  

He parts us both, letting me pant, glazed-eyed, and he takes my face in his hands gently, looking to my features and following them downwards, ending on the scar across my cheek. The three jagged lines hold his attention before his eyes drift back up, and I saw something amazing.

Bishop smiled!

“I love you, Rowan.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead, lingering with us pressed together.

“Riding...Markarth...gotta leave…” I manage to mumble out despite the state my brain is in. Perhaps it's the oxygen deprivation of being kissed by a fucking merman, but nothing is quite working correctly up there. I stumble backwards once he releases me, nearly falling over as I turn away towards the door, thanking the weather for brushing cool air against my cheeks. 

“Ladyship, you’re damn adorable.” Bishop shakes his head, stopping down slowly to pick up his things. “Well, when you aren’t killing things, making puns, or shouting profanities.”

“Which is most of the time.” I quip. Oh, right. He always does this so I can get back to normal. 

“Well then you’re hot.” He snickers. I’d blush more, but I don’t think my face can get any more embarrassed. 

“Are you sure you’re good to go?” I manage to get out.

“I’m fine, Ladyship. Especially after that.” He puts his bag over his shoulder. “Besides, we’re heading to Markarth so you can fix me up, right?”

“Quick pitstop for potions and food. Fix you up, and get me another cloak. That’s the plan.” I nod. “And if we have time...perhaps beat Thonar a bit. I’ll get your bags, Bishop…”

“I have them.” He swings them further onto his shoulder, out of my reach. “You got your own stuff to carry.” I squint at him.

“Uh huh.” I sigh, grabbing my bedroll and wrapping it up. Before he can, I grab his too, strapping it to Gradient outside. I grin smugly as I pass by him again, stomping out the coals. “We’re ready, it looks like.”

“Okay.” Bishop walks outside, leaving me in the cave, alone. I saw how he just walked out. Is it with his muscles? Or his joints? I can’t tell just yet… The symptoms still don’t match up with anything; and I still fear it’s not just a transient bout of illness. I’ll fix him up once we get to Markarth. We have about a half day’s ride ahead of us; hopefully that satisfied attitude of his will stay until we get there.


	37. According to Chemistry, Alcohol is a Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it seems like I was trying to hard to be funny, just know my brain at 1am laughs at just about anything

“Bothela, isn’t there anything you can do!?” I cry, slamming my hands on the counter and nearly shrieking.

“I’m sorry girlie, but most men die from this.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue as she continues to mix together a poultice.

“Why can’t we save him!?” 

“All I asked is what the hell an alembic is!” Bishop cries from atop the counter, currently sitting on it as Bothela checks him over.

“I’m afraid it’s terminal. Stupidity kills them all, eventually.” Her hoarse voice breaks the news, bringing the spectacles from her nose. 

“How long does he have, doc?” I croak, too upset to speak.

“The rest of his life, it seems.”

“Oh, Gods!”

“ALL I ASKED IS WHAT AN ALEMBIC WAS!” Bishop roars at us both. “STUPIDITY IS NOT A DISEASE!”

“The first step to remission is admitting you have it.” Bothela nods gravely.

“I’m not stupid!” He protests, drumming his fist against the table.

“That’s exactly what someone with a case of the dumb would say.” I keep a stern face, looking to his eyes. “Bishop, when did you notice these symptoms?”

“I swear, I’ll break as much fragile stuff I can if you guys don’t cut it out.”

“Fine, fine. You nords are always ready to be the bull in a china shop. Quit screaming, boy.” Bothela puts her glasses back on, pulling the alembic back out from under the table. “Light.”

I comply, snapping my fingers to summon a small flame on the end of my index finger. I dip it under the crafted glass distiller, lighting the short candle underneath. I bring out my potion ingredients, lining them up for Bothela on the counter, aware as Bishop inches his hand ever closer to swat them off the table like a cat.

“Do it, and I’m throwing you off the spire.” I warn. “So seriously, what does he have?”

“A very serious case of rockjoint.” She brings out a few vials, bringing them up to the light to inspect.

“Rockjoint?” Bishop asks.

“It’s why you can’t move easily.” I quickly explain. “But it wasn’t like any other case I’ve seen-”

“I wouldn’t expect you to have seen this kind. It’s more common in Black Marsh.” She pauses. “It starts at the arms, usually the elbows and wrist, and works down.”

“So how’d he-”

“I’m getting to that, child.”

“Well sorry.”

“Tell me…” She looks to Bishop, tapping his leg. “Gotten hit by anything strange lately?”

“Anything strange?” He squints at the candlelight. “No, not really.”

“We were in a dwemer ruin when he first started showing symptoms. Anything having to do with the falmer?”

“No, not the falmer. That would have some sort of blight, not this, unless they bit you or something. Rockjoint, or at least this particular type, comes from poison of the blood-”

“Well they have plenty of poison.” Bishop points out.

“So a slight  bite makes a blight during a fight and makes you no longer alright.” I shrug. “Sorry, I figured someone should explain it like Dr. Seuss.”

“...And  _ she’s  _ the mature one?” Bishop quips. Bothela’s used to it and ignores me anyway.

“None that would linger and make you ill. They look to kill you quickly, not give you the sniffles, boy.” She explains. “Now quiet. The adults are talking.”

“I’m older than her!”

“Too bad. She’s a competent doctor, and you somehow got an affliction that’s been dead in these parts for decades.” Bothela looks to me, the black warpaint sparkling as her tired eyes rest of my face. “Don’t get full of yourself, dear.”

“I wasn’t.” I sigh, leaning onto the counter. “Could it be something lingering in the cave? The thing’s a petri dish of whatever the hell likes to grow in moist and dark places. Which is pretty much everything.”

“No, unless he fell onto something with an open wound.” She crossed her arms. “And even if he did, it’d have to sit in his flesh for a good amount of time.”

“Hm.” I look down, thinking about what he’s been hit by. Many things, it seems. Chaurus, falmer, spheres, spiders- everything likes to bully him. He even got struck at by a slaughterfish when we were at the flooded part of the ruins. What was out of the ordinary? If it wasn’t some weird thing the falmer did, what else? The spiders were fine. The chaurus were usual… the dwarven machinery was all usual. Or was it? The centurion had some sort of coating…

“We were in the nameless ruins immediately south...there was a centurion with a brownish film over parts of it. Sound like the culprit?”

“Could be.” She pondered that for a moment. “Returning to your old stomping grounds? Don’t take other people down there; they aren’t as knowledgable as you.” She looks to Bishop.

“I am not stupid.” He swings his legs over the counter. “I know ever clearing, forest, and cave in Southern Skyrim. But I’m no doctor.”

“Yeah yeah, jack of all trades, whatever. Heard it all before.” Bothela dismisses him. “You just ‘didn’t know’ eating that mushroom would give you the craps, or that petting spiders isn’t a general practice. I see your type all the time.”

“No wonder people think you’re a witch.” Bishop mutters, sipping from a waterskin. “Insulting people is how you get by, hag.”

“Yep.” She doesn’t even try and argue. “Sure, boy.”

“But I figured whatever it was could only be some sort of algae. What do you think?”

“Was it partially in water?”

“Yes.” I ponder. “Corrosion?”

“Correct.” She nods in approval. “And…?”

“And something in the water reacted with the corundum, and the byproduct is the source of the toxin?”

“There’s my student.” She mixes some terin feathers into her mixture, letting it boil. “For something like this, you need a bit more than a simple cure disease potion to sway the body. Terin feathers, some shavings of willow, mudcrab chitin, oh, and I almost forgot the salmon scales…” She mutters some other things to herself, slowly picking at my bottles and assessing their contents. Bothela is long gone. Until this potion is done, she won’t address Bishop and I any further. 

“So this lady taught you?”

“Somewhat.” I reply, watching her deft, yet old hands skillfully pick across my large array of bottles and bags. “I knew a great deal before I came here, but not having to collect my ingredients and being free to experiment let me figure out everything on my own. She was a guide, not a teacher.”  

 “Well aren’t you so smart.” He smirks, looking to Muiri in the corner, doing exactly as I did a few years ago. “It’s so weird knowing you grew up here, Rowan.”

“Why?” I hop up on the counter with him, swinging my legs over the opposite side so our backs press together. I lean my head back onto his shoulder, slowly closing my eyes. I’m still exhausted from staying up all night, and I daresay it’s near midnight. 

“I don’t know. You act like you grew up in some secluded settlement, reading and learning to fight, not here…” He sighs. “I guess I was just…”

“Hoping I came from somewhere closer to where you did?”

“...Don’t read into it that much, Rowan.” 

“Well excuse me Princess, it’s what I do.”

“Quit it. It’s weird.”

“Come on, I used to counsel others all the time.”

“See? I just can’t imagine that.”

“Do I seem like that much of a loner to you!?”

“...Yes.”

“Quit your yackin’, I’ve finished.” Bothela says, holding up a potion. It had a murky brownish tinge to it, and the purple bottle it was in not helping at all.   

“...Drink up…” I snicker.

“Can’t I put some honey in it!? Or drink it with mead!?”

“Nope!” Bothela cackles. “It’ll lessen the effect. Gotta down it all, and then you can’t drink or eat anything but water for a few hours!”

“...And you said this thing will kill me?”

“If little Rowan hadn’t brought you to me, your joints would have completely locked up in a few days, and from there it would have spread to your muscles and nerves, and you would quit breathing in a few weeks.” She says, handing the potion to Bishop. “Or you still will, unless you drink this.”

“He’ll drink it. Bishop, honestly- I’ve drank way worse.” 

“Aye. Like that damn sorceress potion.” Bothela reminisces. “Or that Dragon potion of yours...is that what you called it?”

“That thing was fifty percent dragon’s tongue...it was called that since the thing was so damn spicy I could have breathed fire without any help.” I snort. “Sorceress was better. Lasted forever too.”

“Except you couldn’t control how much magic you used, so you nearly blew yourself to the Shivering Isles with a fireball.” 

“Yeah, but I bet I could handle it now.” I defend myself. “I barely knew magic at the time. Just a bit of conjuration.” 

“Watching you three stumble around and raise hell was a favorite past time of mine.” She leans on the counter as Bishop continues to stare at the full bottle. “Giving these damn sleepy nobles a bit of a wakeup is exactly what this town needed...now we’re back to this depressing horseshit.” 

“Someone’s fed up…” I tease.

“Yeah, well…” She swears something else under her breath, then looks over to Bishop. “You gonna’ drink that, or marry it kid?”

“I’m going to drink it!” Bishop snaps. “Damn, woman!”

“I need my beauty rest, and you’re cutting into it!” She retorts with just as much fury.

“We’ll go back to the inn, and I’ll make sure he drinks it.” I drag Bishop off the counter, setting a gemstone onto the counter. A simple sapphire, but Bothela loves them. “I don’t have coin on me, but I think this would cover it...right?”

“Of course.” She swipes it from the tabletop. “Rest easy, Dragonborn. And find Vorstag. He’s been lookin’ for ye!”

…

“If you go to Vorstag, I swear…” Bishop hisses in my ear as we leave.

“Calm down, hissyfit, I won’t.” 

“Promise?”

“Why is it that important?” I look to him, grabbing his hand and intertwining it with mine. “Bishop, what the hell happened?”

“I saw him with bounty papers, Ladyship.”

“You saw him take my bounty?”

“I saw them in his bag at the inn, folded up.” 

“Then how do you know they weren’t for something else?” I raise an eyebrow. “I mean, I take the Jarl’s bounties. They aren’t too bad. It’s not really mercenary work if they attack on sight.”

“Is that how you distinguish it?” Bishop tugs me down a different path, glancing around. “Should we stop by Thonar’s?”

“He’s been good for some time; I think it’s fine. If he dies, Markarth will have a major power shift they can’t handle right now, even if he is a bastard.” I sigh. “And yes. Those that take coin to level out grudges or ‘business’ are mercenaries. Taking some bandits out who have claimed the lives of travellers is fine.”

“Uh huh.” Bishop looks to the bottle in his hand. “I really don’t want to drink this…”

“Well you have to. So don’t be such a baby about it.” We cross the bridge above the smithy. I pause, staring at the thatched roof. I used to spend all my time there. Forging rings and necklaces, cramping my fingers from making chainmail ringlets… “Bishop…” I tug him towards the stairs.

“Oh no, we are not meeting Apolinus!” He tries to redirect me.

“He’s not there!” I urge, overpowering him and pulling us both into the forge. I look around in the dim light of the smelter and forge, running my hand along the workbench and anvil lovingly. They were the same ones; the workbench still holds the ashen burn mark I accidentally gave it when keeping a ring hot so I could engrave it. The anvil still has a slight chunk taken out of the base from where I melted part of it on accident. It’s so nostalgic to me; working my days here with Apolinus was actually quite fun once you got past the part where I worked for the silver bloods. It was hard work, but I could read or talk while I did it, and when I got too hot I would go sit in the spray of the waterfall out on the exposed part of the smeltery. 

“This place is so damn old.” Bishop comments, scooting a hammer from the edge of the workbench. Apolinus, the idiot, left some raw silver out on the second workbench, just asking someone to steal it. I pick it up in my hands, looking it over.

“ _ Ore _ you sure about that?”

“Rowan.”

“Yeah, it is. But I’m glad they didn’t replace it.” I look on the desk, seeing Apolinus’ tools lined up and ready for use on the left side. I always put mine on the right side of the desk so we could distinguish them, but he’d always steal my stuff anyway. “We can leave. Sorry.” We head out of the smithy, making our way down the steps in silence.

“He doesn’t love you, Rowan,” He comments.

“I figured. He no longer  _ smelts  _ my heart anyway!” I giggle. “Don’t worry, I’m not  _ steel  _ waiting for a sign to move on. I’m good.”

“Rowan-!”

“I know. I just miss those easy days.” I stretch. “But I think I like our time together a bit better.” I smirk, messing up his hair. “You’re a bit more adept at sparring with wit, anyway!” 

“Oh?” He smirks, reaching down and pinching my butt. I yelp, jumping to the side and grasping at my backside. 

“Hey!”

“Don’t  _ butt  _ into my sentence when I hadn’t finished.” He warns.

“Good one.” I roll my eyes. “What’d you want to say?”

“Nope, moment’s passed.”

“You just wanted to touch my ass.”

“...Maybe.” We reach the Silverblood Inn, and we both push open opposite sides of the door for each other, just ending up looking like we’re going to clear the place out. We pause with both doors fully ajar, avoiding eye contact with each other and walking in, letting them swing behind us.

“We’re both stubborn.” I snort as we take a seat at the bar.

“That we are.” He agrees. “But I even got to the door first!”

“Common sense? Bah!” I lean back on the barstool. “Not in my presence, Ranger!” 

“Starting to finally get that, yeah.” He motions to Frabbi, and she sets a tankard brimming with mead in front of him.

“Been here that long to be a regular?” I prop my head up on my fist, looking to Frabbi. “Has he been annoying?”

“Nah, I felt sorry for the man, but he seems better now. Not like my husband-” 

“I’m fine.” Bishop says quickly to end the rant. 

“Frabbi, I know it’s been a while but…”

“We’re fresh out of Colovian Brandy, but I have some Surilie Brothers Wine.” She pulls out the bottle.

“You still remember.” I grin, watching her pour a glass.

“Your drinks alone used to pay for the entire upkeep of the inn!” Kleppr calls from along the wall where he was sweeping.

“For once, my husband’s right.” She leans on the bar. “I half expected you to come back and beat that no-good fiance of yours! Or I’d have done it on my lonesome if it’d get you to come back.”

“I thought about it, but I decided to travel instead.” I grab my drink and take a long dram from it, thinking.

“I wish I could travel. But I can’t, since I have to do everything in this damn place.” A clatter bounces off the walls of the inn, and Frabbi wheels around like a dwarven sphere. “Hey, careful with the tankards! Kleppr, clean that up!” She yells to the ones sitting along the hearth.

“Now then…” Frabbi turns back. I look to her right as Bishop goes to drink, and I feel my memory spark and I snatch the tankard from his hands. “You alcoholic!” She shrieks, witnessing my theft.

“I didn’t  _ mean-d  _ to do it!” I pause. “Wait, yeah, I did.”

“Your drinking is out of control-”

“What? No!” I wave the thought away. “Water for him. He has a potion he needs to drink.”

“Oh come on Ladyship-!”

“Bishop.” I look to him. “Please.”

“She said please.” Frabbi chimes from the sidelines. Bishop wants to fight, but we’re currently in public, and I  _ did  _ say please. 

“He has to take it without any food or drink in him. Water’s fine though.” I chug his mead for him, setting the empty tankard down to be collected by Frabbi. “See? I just saved you!”

“...Couldn’t I have drank that before I drank the potion!?”

“...”

“Rowan, I swear…”

“Saved you.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Saved you.”

“Quit repeating that!”

“Drink the damn potion and be done with it, Gods man!” I look to Frabbi. “He’s a weenie.”

“Am not!” Bishop’s brows furrow as he protests, bringing the lip of the bottle dangerously close to his mouth. He recoils, keeping it as far away from him as possible. “Gods it smells like fish!”

“Just take it!” 

“No!” He snarls, stopping it with the cork. 

“It’s to keep you from dying, Gods, man!”

“Yeah, by killing me with a drink that smells like death first!”

“It isn’t going to kill you.” I roll my eyes.

“Ladyship, I’m very sure the human body can’t digest damn feathers and fish scales.”

“You’d be surprised.” I raise an eyebrow. “Just pretend it’s mead, plug your nose, and get it over with!”

“How about you drink it if you’re so crazy about the damn thing!” He swirls it around the bottle, looking through. “It looks like damn dirty dishwater!”

“I don’t have rockjoint, dumbass!”

“You two bicker like a married couple.” Frabbi watches us. 

“ _ No we don’t! _ ” Bishop and I retaliate simultaneously. Frabbi just rolls her eyes.

“Nope.” I affirm, drinking my wine. “And I think we’re going to retire for the night. Got a room?”

“Only singles…” Frabbi looks to the both of us, smirking. “But that shan’t be a problem for you two, right?” I was in the process of leaning back, and with her words I catapult too far backwards and hit the floor with a rigid thump, with a face as red as the fire.

I shriek a long string of swears and slurs before I even hit the ground. 

“Well now look at what you did.” Bishop looks to Frabbi, then to me on the floor, trying to cover his amusement. “We’ll take it.”

“I figured.” She hands him the key, placing the gold she gets in return under the bar. “Have fun, kids.”

“Woah woah woah!” I yell from the floor. “Now wait a second!”

“No need to justify yourself to me, Rowan. Young and all, and you have no reason to marry anyway, so you can have your fair share of-”

“THAT’S OKAY, I’LL JUST SLEEP ON THE FLOOR…” I jump to my feet, swinging my bag on my back as I grab my tankard and drag Bishop to our room. I check the key’s note, look down the hall to…

“Oh god dammit.” I breathe.

“She gave us the secluded one.” Bishop smirks. “Oh Ladyship!~”

“Don’t even think about it, I swear to Stendarr-!” Now it’s his turn to drag me inside. 

“Calm down, I won’t do anything if you don’t want.” He sighs, still looking to the bottle. “I really don’t want to drink this.”

“You can’t mix it with anything, but I do have an idea to get the taste out of your mouth.” I drop my pack in the chair, unpacking a few books for some light reading before bed. 

“Do you? How?” He uncorks the bottle, choosing not to take a whiff this time. 

“You’ll see. Drink it.”

“That’s exactly what a sadist without a plan would say.” he pauses. “Kinky.”

“Bishop, if this pillow wasn’t made out of goddamn granite, I’d throw it at you.”

“Thank the gods for this cold slab of misery, then!”

“The bed?”

“Well I meant all of Markarth, but yeah, sure.” He smirks. “Fine, fine. Give me a moment to prepare myself…”

“You’re drinking medicine, not jumping off a cliff to your death, Bishop!” 

“Same thing.” He shrugs. “Alright, here goes…” He presses the bottle to his lips, closing his eyes and throwing the potion back. He groans from the bottle, slowly drinking the whole thing as I watch, quietly sipping my wine. 

“That tastes...absolutely like it smells…” He nearly retched as he sets the bottle down, panting.

“Good boy.” I take one last sip of wine, walking up to him and taking his chin in my hand. I grin, pressing my mouth to his quickly, scoffing as he struggles for a moment and calms under my touch. I pull away, coughing a bit. “That does taste fuckin’ awful.”

“Thanks for the kiss, but… couldn’t I have just used that mouthwash stuff?”

I pause, about to argue, then realize he’s right. My eyes widen and I fall backwards onto the bed into defeat, upset about quite literally getting a bad taste in my mouth for the situation.

“And  _ you  _ were making fun of my intelligence earlier?” He sits next to me on the bed, laughing. “Yeah?”

“Shut the hell up.” I roll over, letting him rub my back. “Stoppit.”

“Calm down. I took it. Be happy for once.”

“I’m always happy!” I rant angrily, my face pressed against the stone of the bed. 

“Sure. Right.” He pulls me by the back of my tunic, trying to force me to sit up, but once he lets go I just flop forward again. “What happened to your bone structure!?”

“Dragons are 90% jelly.”

“You fucking liar.” He drums his fingers on my back. “Besides, you have the body of a human. A very small and weak human!”

“I swear Ranger, I’ll fight you again-!” I snap awake, sitting up and tensing my muscles so he can see the outlines from under my undershirt.

“There we are.” He crosses his arms, leaning back. “Ready to sleep?” I pause, drinking the rest of my wine. I should probably return the tankard. “I said sleep, not blackout!”

“I’m not going to blackout from two drinks.” I roll my eyes, standing and opening the door. “Let me give this back to Frabbi, then I’ll sleep.” I walk out of the room, slowly shutting the door behind me and walking out to the commons.

“Tankard?” Frabbi asks, a smirk still on her lips.

“Yes…” I squint at her suspiciously.

“Oh yeah, here you go…” She pulls out a parchment note from her apron, handing it to me. “Someone wanted me to give this to you. Why they didn’t just use the couriers, I’ll never know…”

I take the letter in my hands, glancing to the hallway our room is in. I can see the handwriting even when it’s sealed, and I know exactly who it is…

I break open the seal, a simple drop of smushed wax without a crest. 

 

_ Rowan, _

_ I heard you were in town earlier, but unfortunately I have to run some errands so I can’t wait for you to come back out from Bothela’s. Also, although I’m sure he’s a good companion, I fear if I meet with your directly, that man with you may get the wrong idea. When you were here last time I didn’t get the chance to speak with you, but I want to meet with you before you slip off again.  _

_ I know your companion has probably warned you about me, and let me make myself clear; I don’t intend to harm you in any way. I just want to drink with an old friend I haven’t seen in years. I think your companion misunderstood the papers I had in my bag; they’re the ones I’ve collected over the years from past jobs I’ve done. My resume, if you will. I’ve been trying to join the Stormcloaks for weeks, but the recruiter just won’t see me.  _

_ If you still want to see me, I’ll be on top of the wall where we always were at around two. I already have enough alcohol to get even you drunk, so don’t worry if you’re light on coin- I had some success in a fort not far from here. I’ll repay you for all those years of you picking up my tab like this. _

_ -Vorstag, the man who still can’t bargain for his life. _

 

I snort unwillingly at the last line. It’s too true; he couldn’t haggle a rabbit for a horker if he tried. 

“What’s the time?” I look to Frabbi. She checks the candle clock on the corner, reading the line measurements on the back. “I’d say around midnight thirty.”

“I...what?” I pause. “You know what, never mind. Thank you.” I walk back to the room, pushing open the door.

“That took you a while.” Bishop’s already stretched out on the bed, his head tucked on his elbow. I shoulder my bag, getting it off the chair and pulling a book out. I walk over to the bed, setting my pack at the side of the bed, and slowly open the book, trying to find a specific page. “What are you doing? It’s bedtime, Rowan.”

“I really want to prove to you that sleeping with your arm like that is going to make your arm fall asleep permanently eventually…”

“That’s just what mothers tell their kids.” Bishop dismisses the thought. “Come to bed, Ladyship.”

“Fine, fine.” I strip off my armor, slipping off my boots and throwing my jewelry over the chair. “This bed sucks.” He shuffles back towards the wall, letting me slip into his grasp and pull the furs over us with his other hand. 

“I know.” He rolls his eyes. “I stayed here forever while you were...gone. Trust me, I know. This damn city has a tradition of making everything uncomfortable.”

“You could say...it’s  _ imbedded  _ in the culture!”

“Ladyship...” He starts, but is too tired to say anything else.

After a few minutes he eventually drifts off, falling asleep.


	38. Vorstab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but I have a lot of things due before winter break, and the next part will be more... *cough*

I wait for Bishop to fall asleep, staying still until I know for sure he isn’t going to wake. I slip my hand down to the bedside, picking up the strap of my pack and silently pulling it to me, wiggling out of Bishop’s grasp and replacing it with my pack. He riles for a moment, muttering something, but settles down again along with my bated breath. A quick muffle spell and he shouldn’t hear a thing. I kneel on the floor and tug on my necklaces, rings, and coin purse, standing and holding my belt so my gold doesn’t clink. I pick my feet up gently and make my way towards the door, sliding it open slowly so it doesn’t make a sound. 

Back in the lobby, I try and casually walk past Frabbi, but…

“Goin’ out, are we?”

“You knew.” I lean against the counter.  
“Eh, I resealed the letter myself. Convenient he doesn’t use his pappy’s seal.” She smirks. “Have fun!”

“Quit reading my mail. If this was a nicer city, it’d be illegal.” I roll my eyes. 

“...Have fun!”

I resist the urge to flick her off as I walk out the double doors. Now then…

In the corner of the market there’s an old stall set into the corner wall, usually unseen to most people. It used to be an animal pen, then a guard station, and now is just storage space a few shopkeepers rent out. Either way, its unlocked and easily accessible. I tug open the iron gates and walk inside, looking in the low light and walking around a stack of barrels in front of the shop counter. From the time it was a guard post, there’s still a ladder set into the wall to lead up to the top of the battlements, and…

There it is, pressed against the recess of the wine shelves. I scamper up, pushing open the hatch and pulling myself up the last few feet onto the wall, crouching on the stone. I’m near where I was when I was with the forsworn, discussing how we were going to steal the black book from Ondolemar. I wonder if he’s still in the city? The townspeople always keep information from him, and he never goes out of Understone Keep if he can help it, but if I do stay too long and a justiciar sees me, there’s going to be trouble. I wonder if Vorstag would know anything about that? 

Now then… our little part of the wall. A little know fact for you all… Markarth once had a nasty landslide right before I came to the city. It partitioned off a very small part of the city, cleaving off a small corner of the set wall and creating a natural addition to the battlements. But if you crest the small part, you’ll end up on a little platform, still connected to the city, but sectioned off from view. All three of us would always steal bottles of brandy and wine, and sit up there with a campfire until we fell asleep. Yes, we were very dumb, but it was a good life.

I walk over to the landslide, my boot lifting me above it and over to the partitioned part. Vorstag sits on the edge of the wall, bottles of colovian brandy on a barrel top. 

“It’s a good night.” He comments as I settle on the wall beside him, reaching back and grabbing a bottle.

“Bastard.” I comment, uncorking the thin necked bottle. “I didn’t need the letter. I knew just by the fact that  _ these  _ were all gone.”

“You and I are the only two in all of Markarth to brandy, Colovian or otherwise…” He grabs one for himself, reaching his arm out. “Cheers.”

“Something like that.” I clink my bottle against his, taking a long swig and looking out over the plains. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. Things are finally starting to look up, and it should be smooth sailing very, very soon.” He says honestly. “Though this city hasn’t gotten any better. You know that.”

“Yeah.” I pause, looking out at the stone city. Time will not change the face of Markarth, but the internals are long rotten. “Yeah…” 

“How have you been?” He looks over to me, the warpaint from his face gone. Instead, his tanned skin and soft brown hair were freshly washed, like he just got back from battle. “You…?”

“I’ve been doing some delving.” He admits. “Dwarven ruins are pretty rich, you know?”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just got back from one myself.” I chuckle, taking another swig. “We might want to be better, but we’re kids from a stone cold ruin, and we found out quick we do well in em’.” 

“Getting drunk, are we?” He smirks. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah well…” I throw my first bottle behind me, grabbing a second. “Colovian brandy is the only thing that gets me past a bit buzzed. You know ‘at.” 

“That I do.” He still sips on his first. “I bought them for you. To say thanks for bailing me out of debt all those times. And all that boring shit about the dwemer you always yammered about? It’s saved my hide more than I’d like to admit.”

“Told you.” I roll my eyes. “You and ‘Pol always told me to shut up. But hey, at least you’re using it.”

“Apolinus… I’d invite him, but the sexual tension between you two would make me want to jump off the wall.”

“Correct.” I smirk. “How’s he been?”

“Lonely, but he’ll move on. Now that he’s seen you with…” His gaze narrows at the stables as he thinks. “Did I know his name?”

“Nah. He’s Bishop.” I stretch out on the wall, crossing my legs and taking another swig. “I helped him back in Falkreath about a year ago.”

“And you kept him around?”

“He didn’t even flinch when a dragon found us. He’s got more balls than anyone else I’ve met.” 

“Not always a good thing.” He comments. “Though...for you, I guess it’s a good compliment. Same with mine.”

“You found someone?”

“Aye, though she’s in Solitude.”

“That’s good. You tryin’ to get things situated?” I look up at the stars, breathing out a sigh as I watch my breath form in front of me. I shrug my newly bought cloak on further. 

“Well, I tried to be a merchant, so I bought a bunch of stuff from the Pale and tried to peddle it back here. Didn’t work out too well; I sold everything, but I didn’t make much of a profit. Not anything I can boast, anyway.” He sighs. “I think I’ll be like you. Kick it like an adventurer. I’d be fine with it, as long as I have her waiting for me back home.”

“Aw, cute!” I chuckle. “Who is she?”

“Not telling, but she has her own shop too.”

“Tryin’ to impress her?”

“...Maybe.” He sighs. “But I can’t bargain for my life.”

“Noo, yous can’t.” I finish my third bottle, grabbing another. “But hey, you’re good at other things!”

“Like?”

“Well apparently you’re good now when it comes to ruins.” I look over to him, sipping on my fourth bottle. “You break open one stupid little door in some hole in the ground, and suddenly you’re gonna be rich, so keep lookin’, friend!”

“You’re finally getting drunk.” He scoffs, looking over. “You’ve drank four of those things.”

“Oi, I’ve only drank three, ya ass!” I put the bottle to my lips, tipping it back. It’s empty. I turn it upside down, trying to shake out a drop, but nothing comes. I throw it behind me in frustration, grabbing another.

“Drinking really is your greatest weakness.” He shakes his head. “You need to be more careful, Rowan.”

“Ay, what’s wrong with cuttin’ loose with a friend!” I scoff, leaning back and kicking my legs against the wall. “So other than yoos bad business ventures, what’s been happenin’?” I take another swig. “I’ve been in the backwoods for too long, not amongst people’ really gets to ya when it comes to the time! ‘Specially when you’re underground for most o’ it!”

“I’m sure it does.” He nods. “The hazards of being the dragonborn, I guess.”

“Oh so you know?” I grin. “Well, I’m glad fa’ that. I don’t like the respons...responsibilities much, but the power is always pretty nice!” 

“So I’ve heard.” He finally finishes his first bottle as I roll my fourth behind me. I grab the last one, popping the cork right as he looks behind himself for another.

“Oh…’im sorry Stag…” I go to hand him the one I have. 

“It’s fine, I have some mead with my pack.” He waves the gesture away. “Oh, and Rowan? Did you...and don’t take this aggressively, know that you had bounties? Lots of them?”

“Those? Ye’, I know.” I giggle, drinking still. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve known for a while bout them bastards tryin’ ta get me.” 

“They want your blood, did you know that?” 

“Or my hair, or my soul… Trus’ me, I-know.” I slur, taking another swig. “Don’t worry. They aren’t gonna get me!”

“Have a lot of people tried to collect them?”

“Nah, not really. A few asshats, thas’ it.” 

“That’s good. Now where is that wine…” He stands, walking past me, supposedly grabbing another bottle. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen him... I lift my feet and spin on the battlement with a bit of glee, the bottle still in my hand. Besides, I can let him have it. Guy deserves it! I reach my hand forward, offering it to him, careful not to spill any.

“No really, ‘is fine, you can havvit!” I bring it forward, eyes slightly closed with my smile.

“Why’d you turn back around, Rowan?” He asks, eyes saddened.

“Wha…?” I look to his face. Even in my drunken state, I can still feel the distress in my core. My liver, to be precise. And it isn’t alcohol. “Vorstag...what have you done?” I manage to croak out, the bottle slipping out of my hand and cracking on the floor. The pain sobers me instantly as my breathing comes in ragged gasps, leaning forward and trying not to pass out. He wasn’t grabbing mead. He was grabbing his knife.

“If you weren’t so willing to give everything away, you’d have died drunk and happy.” He says solemnly, twisting the blade with a sickening snap. I slide from my precarious perch and topple to the stone like a wet sack. My grunt echoes off the stone as I grip my abdomen, lungs greedily sucking in air as I suddenly find it hard to breathe. The crooked ebony dagger glitters in his hand like the night sky, now wet with my blood. “I didn’t want you to realize it. I’m sorry, Rowan. Really am. But that money… it’ll get me more than a good life in Solitude.”

“When I get to you…” I snarl.

“You won’t.” He grinds his boot into my wound, being sure to put as much dirt into it as possible. “Personally, I’m surprised you haven’t died yet. I guess your liver is hardier because of all the drinking you abuse it with.” He kneels down, angling the dagger towards my heart. “I was experimenting with what area would kill you faster with the bandits in the fort not far from here…” He traces the blade up my chest, counting out the ribs. “Woman or not, you’re a tough one… Don’t worry. I won’t do much with you. I’ll take what I need and leave the rest of you for the buzzards.”

“You…” My head rolls to the side, and I shudder under the blade.

“Under the third rib…” He mutters to himself. I’d scream, but I haven’t done that since I was a little girl, and well...I don’t have the strength anymore. “Goodbye, Rowan…” 

“Bye, asshole.” I spit out. “Have fun counting coins in Oblivion.”

“You, of all people, should know that the worst people in this world are the ones most celebrated.” He moves to drive the blade home, drawing a line of red.

…

**Bishop**

My arrow sinks into Vorstag’s side with so much force it topples him off of Rowan, knocking him nearly off the wall. It would have been better if he fell; now that he’s in my reach, he’s going to be sent to the depths of hell a little earlier than expected.

“Ladyship!” I hop over the hill, already pulling a healing potion out of her pack. She’s lost so much damn blood...the fucking idiot! Vorstag, you better just off yourself now, or so help me Gods… there’s not going to be enough of you to bury!

“Bishop…” I see her lips form the word, but there’s no sound. Dammit…! The idiot is way too damn trusting. Sneaking out like I wouldn’t realize I was hugging her damn pack! 

“Rowan!” I tilt the bottle back in my own mouth, kneeling next to her and tugging her into my grasp. I press my lips to hers, opening her throat and pouring it down, exhaling only once I tell it’s working. Now for Vorstag…

“It won’t be enough.” He calls. “Listen…”

“Bastard!” I spit, standing over her. I yank back another arrow, firing it faster than he can spew some bullshit excuse, pinning him to the earth behind him. Fucker deserves it. I’ll figure out just how many arrows I can stick in him before he dies. It’ll be a nice final ‘fuck you’ to the guy, courtesy of the people he did in at the fort. 

“Bishop…” Rowan breathes from under me, slowly getting to her feet.

“Stay down, Rowan.” I call, stepping forward. “Stay down and shut up. I’ve got it.” 

She gets to her feet anyway, using my side to steady herself.

A sword comes to her hands, and she uses it to help her get her balance, and then steps forward towards Vorstag. Is she going to kill him herself? The irony would be pretty good. She points it at his vitals, angling it with his sternum, and freezes. She lingers there for a few moments, wrestling with a battle she’s probably dreaded since she found out who she was.

That bastard. 

Her arm drops. She sighs instead. She can’t. And despite the situation...I can’t help but feel a little glad about her decision.

“Sorry Vorstag.” She apologizes.

“The hell-” I start.

“Wait a second, Rowan…!” The bastard goes to pull the arrow out of his shoulder, but she pins him to the wall with her boot. She stares into his eyes, stunning him into silence with that serene grace I know her to have. She’s terrifying, and beautiful, and...I can’t help but stare. It’s his final judgement; I know it is, and he can’t say a damn thing to defend himself. That frosted glare of hers can read right through any man, this traitor included. 

“Bishop.” She looks to me, head slightly tilted, and dissolves her sword. She pushes past us both, further down the wall. Well okay, Ladyship. Message read and accepted.

I draw my arrow back one last time for the night.

…

“You couldn’t do it.” I finally catch up to her, leaning against the guard post and staring at the constellations. The month is of Sun’s Dawn...so that’s the lover constellation. It’s brighter than usual, the stars twinkling more actively. 

“Shut up.” She pauses. “My legs hurt.” 

“You still couldn’t do it.” 

“Bishop, really…” 

“No...I think it’s admirable.” I sigh. It really is; even to the end she’s loyal. After everyone she trusted betrayed her, she still decided to be the better person. There’s a lot said in that. A lot that I would never be able to do. If that was me… Vorstag would have been thrown off that wall as soon as he seemed suspicious. But what if Vorstag had been Rowan…?

I don’t want to think of that right now.

“It’s weak.” She says adamantly, leaning on me. “My legs hurt.”

“So you’ve said.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, steadying her as we walk across to the stairs back down. “They’ll heal eventually. Don’t worry.”

“But this won’t…” She summons a candlelight to her side, tugging up her torn tunic. A pale white scar runs across her stomach horizontally, adding to the rest of the lines that criss cross her body. She touches it testily, nearly wincing as she does, still in shock by what’s happened.

A small flame flickers to her finger, slowly about to press into the scar. 

“He’s gone.” I assure her, grabbing her hand away from herself and extinguishing the flame. “He’s gone. He’s dead. And for the love of everything, don’t hurt yourself because of that bitch.”

“I’m fine.” She says quietly. “I just don’t want another scar.”

“No one does.” I straighten my armor, leading her down the steps. “Ladyship...You’re okay. You’re safe. So just…”

She stays silent.

“So...please don’t act like you just lost everything. I’m here. Always will be.” I finally say. She’s still silent. I hug her tighter, tucking her hair behind her ear and out of the way from when it got loose as she fell. That bastard… if he had only had a bit longer with him… “I said please!” I at least get a giggle from that.

“You did.” She confirms as we reach the bottom of the steps. “We need to get out of here, Bishop.” I know that. But as of current, with her arms around me and her head tucked into my chest… I don’t want to leave. But we need to. Knowing this damned city, Thonar will make sure it’s pinned on her… Frabbi knew the two were going to meet. The guards are going to put two and two together, and with all those bottles… Rowan’s going to be framed as the violent alcoholic. The bounties aren’t going to end anytime soon; they’ll only pick up, from more dangerous people. Hell, the city itself may put one on her now.

No matter who they send, they’ll find one of my arrows in them before they can even look at her. I’ll protect her. After all, I’m her Ranger. 

“I know.” I look towards the inn, then to the large dwemer door out of the city. I can get in and out without attracting much attention; the drunkards are stumbling out finally. “You stay here. I’ll check us out a bit early.”

“Okay.” She sits on the bottom step, not moving. She’s lost in her thoughts. I just hope she doesn’t go too far…


	39. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so...this chapter is *entirely* explicit. Read at your own risk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Have some sin!
> 
> No really, there's sex.

**Rowan**

“I’d feel a little better if you cried.”

“Not happening, Ranger.” We both stand over the fallen body of a dragon, waiting for its skin to flake off. It’s been a day since we left Markarth, and Bishop is still trying to dig into the incident with Vorstag. He’s right, I’m not really okay with it, but I think talking about it isn’t going to help me at all, despite what he thinks. So he’s just reverted back to being an ass, like usual.

“Fine.” He sighs. He feels terrible, despite trying his best- after all, I was the one who snuck away. The scar still burns on my skin, but it isn’t from actual pain; just knowing it’s there is enough to nag my psyche into annoyance.

The winds and golden lights wrap around my legs, circling around my body as I stare into the softly flowing plains, the grass rippling like water as the winds brush over. The sun is going to set soon. It’s still above the treeline for now, but the forest is so dense that once it dips below the second horizon of green, we’ll be in the dark quickly. 

“Where can we stay for the night?” I ask, turning around to face him, my arms crossed. “Are we closer to Falkreath? Or are we…?”

“Sunderstone Gorge. We’re in Falkreath Hold.” Bishop stares directly at my face. “It’s somewhere east of here, just a bit farther.”

“Okay…” I pause. “Bishop, I swear-I’m fine.”

“You just don’t seem it. I mean, last night was the first time I’ve ever seen you drunk, and you don’t even have a damn hangover!”

“Quit trying to be funny.” I snap, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “You know I have a great relationship with booze. When you respect the alcohol, it respects you.”

“Crabby. So you do have one.” He smirks, patting Karnwyr’s head. 

“I don’t.” I look around us. “Just...really annoyed that for some reason, I’m still thinking of Markarth.” I swing myself back on top of my horse, watching as Bishop copies me. 

“I’ll lead for now.” He says finally. “Ladyship, I may be an ass, but really…”

“It’s okay.” I press out a smile. “Really Bishop, I am. I expected something like this to happen eventually...I just...expected it to come from Apolinus, not Vorstag.”

“You should have listened to me.” He says stubbornly, pulling Gradient so he passes Ashes. “I knew he was bad! Everyone in that damn city sucks!”

“Bothela’s fine!” I protest. “...Sometimes!”

“You reconsidered! And I don’t think that damn potion needed salmon scales- I was flipping through one of the books while we waited, and I saw it didn’t have any effects! That witch just did it so it tasted damn fishy! Well you know what, she’s fishy too! And I bet something -down there- is!”

That was my cue to burst out laughing.

“Ha…!” I sniff, tears coming to my eyes. “Serves you right!” I giggle, clutching at my side. “Hoooo… Bishop, Gods…”

“Don’t you laugh at that! You tasted the damn thing!” He roars. “What the hell!?”

“Still...funny…!” I nearly fall out of the saddle as I imagine Bothela laughing to herself as we left, damning Bishop to his salmon fate. 

“Damn it, Rowan…” He sighs, shaking his head. “So what are we onto now? We’re finally back to our old selves!”

I crack my back, contemplating that statement. I was wondering the same thing… what are we going to do? 

“We could look into the sources of most of those bounties. I know Thonar, but I frankly don’t know the rest…”

“Do you know where to start looking?” He looks behind him to me. I just stare. 

“Ladyship…”

I stare more.

“Rowan, seriously, I don’t.”

More staring.

“I’m serious.”

And some more staring.

“Okay, I may know a place…” He sighs.

“There we go!” I snicker. 

“It’s a bad place, though. I wouldn’t want  _ me  _ in there, let alone you. We can travel there, but I’m not taking you in.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. They aren’t the type to immediately know you can tear them in half. They may push some limits…”

“And then I’ll have some hands to break. I need to get these bounties off, Bishop. For both of us.”

That ‘both of us’ hung in the air, making an impression on the ranger. He sighed, nodding slowly. 

“Fine.” He says. “But stick close to me. I don’t want to hear your high pitched squeal when someone gropes you.”

“I dunno, considering the armor I’m in, versus the armor you’re in, they’ll know who wears the pants in our duo.” I lean forward, ready for the backlash. 

“Hey! My armor’s fine!” He snarls, leaning all the way back.

“It tore like tissue paper, Bishop. It really isn’t. You need to get something better.” I lean back in the saddle, stretching my back and looking to the dotted sky. 

“I made this pair, I can make another.” He says stubbornly.

“Bishop, I’ll make you a pair. And I’ll make you a damn shortsword.” The image of what I’d make him begins to draw itself in my mind. Not a rapier, not for him; he needs something with a little more substance to it. A leaf blade, perhaps? And for the armor… I’m abandoning the idea of glass. Perhaps some good looking, reinforced hunter armor would do him justice. I’ve seen a pair on the guys from Hammerfell. It’s layered leather armor with armored pieces being detachable so it becomes a one-size-fits-all situation. 

“No.” There go my hopes.

“Please.” I sigh. “Bishop…”

“I like my stuff.” He protests. “Thanks, Rowan, but no thanks. I don’t want new things.”

“And I’d rather not die because my partner got cut down by a falmer, and I get crushed by something.” I snort. “Bishop, really. That centurion cut through your armor as if it wasn’t there.”

“The thing’s big. It’d cut through your armor too.”

“Bishop, leather becomes stiff and fragile with age. Your armor is old. It’s time for a change.”

“No. I like this armor.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Sure I am.”

“You’re going to get me killed too.”

“...No I won’t.”

“You hesitated!” I call.

“Did not!” He snaps back. “Nothing’s going to happen!”

“But what if something does? Bishop, do you only care about fashion!?”

“I made this armor! It’s mine! I like it!”

“Now you’re just being stubborn!”

“Aye, cuz’ it’s mine!”

“We’ll talk about this later.” I huff. “Cave.”

“Wha-” His gaze focuses. “Oh yeah.”

“Dumbass.” I bring Ashes to the front, hopping off of her and taking the reigns. “Now then… you know your way around here?”

“Do I know the back of my hand?” He swings himself down from the saddle. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anything except us in there.”

“I hope not.”

“Do your legs still hurt?”

“A bit.” I admit, rolling my shoulders. I summon a candlelight to my side and pat Ashes’s side to calm her into staying still, peering into the dark.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Bishop draws an arrow, nocking it and pressing against the side of the cave’s entrance. “Don’t hear anything.”

“ _ Laas _ !” I whisper, crouching in the entrance. I look through the stone, my eyes now straining to see any blotches of red. Only small flecks, meaning the worst this cave is inhabited by is a few normal-sized spiders. “Nothing.”

“This used to be where some fire cult worshipped. I doubt we’d run into anything human here.” Bishop sighs. “At the worst I expected skeevers.”

“Anything we can go loot?”

“No… the ruins inside collapsed.” He puts away his arrow. “Alright, I’d say we’re safe for the night.”

“I’ll trust your instinct.” I walk back to Ashes, gathering my bag. Once that happens, she realizes she can wander; she stamps her feet, eager to run off with Gradient for a while. 

“You may rule the plains, Rowan, but Falkreath is my territory.” He smirks, watching Karnwyr trot up. “Oh, sorry.  _ Our  _ territory.” He walks up to Bishop, head arched high. Bishop scratches under his chin as Karnwyr wriggles himself around, looking Bishop square in the eyes.

“The wolf’s being serious.” I tease, leaning against the cave entrance. 

“Quit staring at me like that.” Bishop raises an eyebrow as Karnwyr steps back, looking to me with his big black eyes. After a few moments of staring he backs up more, turning around with his tail at half mast and stalking into the forest.

“...Okay then.” I blink. 

“Just me and you, it seems.” He sighs. “Well, even without the footwarmer we’ll be okay. I don’t think it’ll be too cold.”

“If you say so.” I step inside the cave, peering into it. I turn the corner. Sure enough, I can see the nordic hallway has collapsed, rubble streaming out of the entrance.

“Told you. All that’s left is this small room.” Bishop motions to the small dip that tapers out into a roundish chamber. The cave is roughly ‘L’ shaped now, meaning anyone at the entrance isn’t able to see inside to the room within. “Shall we get a fire going?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Who’s going to get firewood?”

He pauses, studying my face. “Shooting contest?”

“You’re on.” I summon a bow. “Choose your target, Ranger.” I follow him to the opening of the cave, slowly looking around for anything suitable. “Hmmm…” From beside me, Bishop starts to chuckle evilly, eyes locked with a distant object.

“How about that Rowan tree?” I follow his gaze in a straight shot to a tall Rowan tree, splendidly in bloom due to Falkreath’s climate despite the season. Crimson berries dot its leaves, signaling the prime of its years, the interweaving branches making a thicket above its sturdy trunk. It’s about a hundred...perhaps a hundred and fifty paces away.

“Wow.” I groan. “The irony. I just hope this isn’t symbolic of anything.” Think about that one for a bit. 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Bishop nocks a cheap steel-tipped arrow. He intends to stay here. I’ll be sure not to let that happen!

“Uh huh. You aren’t going to win!” I proclaim, tugging the string on my bow to allow a ghostly arrow to appear on my shelf. I draw my fingers back to my cheek, feeling the warmth of my skin under my own fingers. 

“I think I will!” He bares down on his stance, steadily aiming as the muscles under his tunic flawless pull taught. They modestly poke out, drawing even my attention from beside him. He’s only bulked up more since we began travelling; slimming down over the months to only leave behind the hardened muscle he has now. The smirk on his face grows bigger as I stare. He knows! Abort mission!

I snap my gaze back to the Rowan tree, trying to steady my aim. He saw. Gods dammit!

“Three...two...one...shoot!” He shoots his arrow straight, the fletching a blur as it whizzes into the trunk of the tree. Mine hits as well; but… I was a bit distracted. It never hit square on in the front, and instead clips one of the sides and droops over sadly.

“Damn!”

“I think that’s my win.” He smirks, tucking away his bow. “Distracted by something, Ladyship?” One of his eyebrows shoots up, infuriating me further.

“Yeah. I don’t want to shoot my own kin.” I huff. 

“Be sure to get dry wood!” He calls, turning tail and disappearing back into the cave.

“Glad to know you’re fine with killing me!” I yell over my shoulder sarcastically.

...

“Stupid...distraction! Gah!” I swear under my breath as I hack apart a fallen branch, looping the pieces into my pack. I’m in sight of the stone path leading to Falkreath when I turn to find another branch, making eyes with a fallen rowan tree. 

“...Nah.” I decide, whirling back again to a light suddenly on the path. Hello?

I crouch in the retreating light, taking care not to shuffle my feet to rustle the leaves. I can hear their steel toed boots on the cobble, tapping up towards me. Flowing robes and a torch clutched in a gloved hand, webbed with a purification spell. It’s a vigilant. 

“Hail!” I call from the woods, stepping out into the path and pulling out my purse. “Can I purchase a cleansing potion?” He’s a bit freaked out by my sudden entrance, but I’m too occupied with rage to care.

“‘Course, traveller. For your journeys, or are you…?”

“...Just to keep around, and please bring your gaze up, thanks.” 

“Sorry.” He blushes even in the retreating light. Newbie. “Ah…” He pushes the bottle into my hand, relieved when I drop gold into it. 

“Twenty is your usual rate, right?”

“Yeah.” He nods furiously. “Is this the way to Falkreath?”

“Aye, it is. But you have a ways, friend.” I look down the path. “Quite a ways. Up until the fork, and you take a right and follow it to Falkreath. But you’re a half day’s travel.”

“Really? Ah…” He looks around at where we are. “Know anything...nearby?” 

“Backtrack a bit and you’ll find Fort Sunguard. It’s controlled by the Imperials. Ask nicely and do a bit of healing and they’ll let you stay the night.” I pause. Do I ask? I may as well… “Are you from the Hall, or…?”

“I am. This is my first mission alone. I’m meeting up with my partner in Falkreath.”

“That’s nice. Do you know a man named Casavir?”

“Casavir!” The man exclaims. “Do I? He’s a monster-but aye, a good one- I mean one on our side- he rips through vampires and weres like they’re made of nothin’!” He fangirls.

“Good to hear.” I beam. I’m glad he’s doing well there! “Be sure to give him my best regards.” 

“I shall, but who should I say you are?” He brings his torch a bit my way, illuminating my face.

“Tell him Rowan the Dragonborn says ‘Hullo’.” I nod, excusing myself. “Fort Sunguard, friend.”

“Oh, ah, thanks!” He pauses, looking after me walking down the dirt road to Sunderstone Gorge. “And I’ll tell him!”

I wish him luck on his mission, wherever it is. 

…

“Hello rock.” I greet a stalagmite as I walk in. “Oh, and hey Bishop.”

“...Not going to comment on that.” He has our bed positioned around a firepit he marked out, letting me dump my firewood and set it ablaze. 

“Phew!” I sit on the bedroll, pulling off my armor and staring into the flames. It’s been...more than a rough week. I grab a bottle of fresh mead, popping off the cork with my thumb and taking a long draught, thinking.

Vorstag. It’s been nagging my damn brain while I was collecting firewood, but thankfully the mundane task and the vigilant kept me occupied. I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t kill him even though he had betrayed me without a second thought. Bishop was right… I am too trusting. I’m way too trusting in who I put my faith in. Though in my defense, I didn’t expect a childhood playmate to be out for my blood for a bit of gold. I guess money really is the root of all evil. Vorstag probably was desperate, but he had enough to buy all that brandy so I’m not too sure…

“Rowan.” Bishop calls softly from beside me, already down to his tunic and slacks. 

“Yes?” My eyes flash wider as I turn, startled. “I was just…”

“Thinking of Vorstag.” He snaps, not even looking to me. “Rowan…”

“Yes it bothers me, okay? I know you’re going to ask if I’m fine, so there’s your damn answer.” I say, clutching my bottle a bit harder. “It bothers me, because despite the _ twenty years _ we’ve known each other, he just sees me as a quick way to get rich! I thought of him as a friend, would have trusted him with my life, since I figured you were just doing what you always do and getting all angsty over nothing, and he stabs me! Fucking stabs me and twists the blade!”

“There we go.” Bishop pulls me to him, swinging me so I can press my weight against him and rest my head. 

“I...twenty years of friendship, roaming the plains, of bailing him out of debt, fighting on his behalf…” I feel my throat seize, but I’m not about to cry. Damn if I shed any tears over that bastard. The sorrow just turns into hurtful rage as I feel my stomach turn into lead. “I had two people in my life, Bishop, when I was younger… and both of them stabbed me in the back. One figuratively, one literally. I have no one left Bishop… I don’t have anyone!”

“You have me, Rowan.” He says quietly. “You have me, and always will.” My breath catches a bit with that line; the gentleness of his tone soothing my heart slowly. But a gaping wound can’t just be fixed with a small bandage...

“Bishop…” That’s true. I do have him...but when will he turn? How long until he sees a string of zeros and decides it’s worth more than me alive? “But…”

“What if I turn out just like Vorstag?” He growls. “Ladyship, look at me.” I can’t. I’m too lost in my thoughts, and the mix of fear and sadness has made an awful monster for me. 

The two people I would have gave my life for two years ago both betrayed me without a second thought or any hesitation. One did it for prestige, another for money… two things that are equally worthless. My entire childhood, and a good part of my adult life, has been wasted on two people who threw me away once it was convenient. Did I just...not make that much of an impression? Was it something about who I am? I’m the dragonborn, but I’m Rowan first… and Rowan’s so scared of being alone, with new scars to match the ones on her heart. 

“I can’t…” I sigh, exasperated, rolling my head to look into the fire. All at once I’m on the ground, with Bishop above me, eyes darkened and looming.

“Look at me, Rowan.” His hand gently guides my cheek so I’m forced to look into his glittering eyes. “Gods damn me if I’m like those two bastards, okay? I don’t care if it’s a month or sixty years, I’ll be right here. So just forget them! They weren’t worth anything to start with, you’ve gained nothing, but you’ve lost nothing. You’re strong enough to stand on your own!”

“I know…” I say, not really meaning it.  My hand is pressed against my stomach, against the pale scar I just recently got as a momento. Bishop’s gaze flickers down to where my palm rests, and a low growl comes from his throat; not threatening to me, but in annoyance at Vorstag.

“Rowan, Gods, I love you. Neither of them did. There’s a difference between us!” He protests, still pinning me down so I stare into his face. “Listen to me!”

“I am! Dammit Bishop, I am, but-” I squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He’s way too close to me...his head is hanging low so the heat of his breath trails across my collarbone. 

“You aren’t really listening, and you know it.” He mutters, dipping closer to me. 

“I-” I go to sputter some excuse as I feel a soft kiss meet with my forehead, shocking my eyes open. “...Bishop?” 

“I love you, Rowan. I love you so damn much. Don’t compare me to them…” He falls to his elbows, pinning himself closer to me as I feel the pressure of his chest’s rise and fall as he breathes. “I do. And if you gave me a chance to show it, I promise I’d make you forget them…” His voice was barely above a whisper beside my ear, making me shiver. 

I lift my head to his, my breath fluttering hot across his neck as we linger, both waiting. Do I? Hells, virginity means nothing to me. The act is meaningless; the thing I care about is the symbolism. I...give myself to him, and he has the Dragonborn at his mercy. If I was just Rowan, this wouldn’t be an issue; I stand on my own right, and this wouldn’t make me any less of who I am. But…

I love him. I want to do this.

Which may seem like such a trivial thing, but considering how much my heart has been locked away for my life, is quite impressive. He didn’t need me to feel obligated or to not in my right mind… he has me fully. Unwilling at first, but I’ve been drawn to him. He didn’t win me over with gifts or flattery, it was by appealing to the real me. Besides, I was never a fan for glitter. 

My gaze softens as I meet his eyes fully, my mouth heaving a sigh as I settle beneath his grip, feeling his hand graze my side. I shiver again as he waits for my reply. 

Yes? No? Give me more time? I’ve used that last one time and time again. Let’s make a decision for once. 

“I love you. See if you can make me forget, Ranger.” I pause, giggling slightly. “That was dumb.”

“Eh, I’ll let it go this time.” He smirks, taking my lips passionately as he undoes the drawstring on my neckline, letting it sink down. I undo his, tugging his shirt off and discarding it beside us. He’s too focused on me to notice; his current attention is running his lips along my collarbone, slowly tugging at the skin.

“Quit biting me.” I grin, undoing his belt. He withdraws for a few moments, face inches from mine as he realizes this is real. The shock on his face is priceless! “This is real, Bishop.” 

He pinches himself to make sure anyway.

“...You had some dreams, or…?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” He looks down to the fire, reminiscing about a memory. I guess Markarth was pretty  _ hard  _ on him...I just feel dirty after that one. 

The fire crackles beside us as he leans back a bit, leaving me blinking awkwardly on the bedroll under him. He contently stares back, burning the image in his mind with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Much more beautiful with your hair strewn around your face like a goddess, than with it braided like a noble.” He observes. 

“Thanks.” I shuffle awkwardly under his touch, trying to lean up a bit. It’s cold down here…

“No, Rowan.” He undoes my belt and loosens my pants, slowly tugging them down over my hips. I feel the fabric drag past my thighs, and I resist the urge to cover myself. Instead, I wiggle awkwardly under his touch, riling him more as his stare burns a hole in my core. “I’m sorry, but we’re doing this on my terms, Love. I’ve waited a very...very long time for this.” He breathes, barely audible as he tugs at my underclothes like he’s unwrapping a present. He gets the bottoms off easy, but…

“...How in Oblivion does this bra come off?” He fumbles with the back, allowing me to get up for long enough to undo the clasp and throw it to the side. 

“Some lady-pleaser.” I grin. “Hope you aren’t out of practice.” 

“First time I’ve actually been nervous about it.” He admits, letting me take the opportunity to throw his pants off. Only his underclothes, then… 

I stare, my face turning red under the pressure. I can’t do it!

I flop back to the bedroll, covering my eyes with a forearm. 

“Hells...I…” Bishop doesn’t let me give an excuse as he grabs me by the wrist, pinning it beside me. He takes them off himself, smirking at my usual behavior. “I’d rather see your face, Rowan.” He stares at me with a benign gaze, giving me a coy smile as he looks down...embarrassed?

“Someone else is getting a bit nervous…” I tease, running a hand along his cheek. “Hm?”

“I already said it.”

“But  _ Bishop?  _ The  _ Ranger? Nervous? _ ” My hand drags back to his hair, tracing along the curve of his cheek until my fingers are resting at the base of his neck. 

“Only you’d do this to me; evil woman.” He refuses to meet my eyes again as he dips down, taking a breast gently and steadying himself with a knee that parts my legs. The sensation of both being exposed to the air makes my head tilt as I tense, so new to the foreign sensation.

“Ahhh….” I sigh, my moan, echoing off the stone walls. Bishop freezes too, pausing as he chuckles for a moment, watching the crimson rise back into my cheeks. “Wh-what?” 

“That’s the most attractive noise you’ve ever made.”

“How about ‘fuck you’, is that attractive?” I wrench my head away, embarrassment written all over my face. I didn’t expect for it to be so good from the beginning… and I also didn’t know I could make that kind of noise…!

“For you? Anything you say is attractive. Even the swears.” He grins. 

“Shut the hell-” I’m about to say the final word as he flicks a finger over my chest, watching me shiver under him. “Ah!”

“There we are.” He chuckles evilly from his position. 

“Quit toying with me…” I narrow my eyes. 

“That’s the fun part, Rowan. It’s called ‘foreplay’. And trust me, you want some.” He says ominously. My gaze involuntarily snaps down, makes eye contact, and rockets back up again as I stare at the ceiling, groaning. Gods help me.

“Oh.” I look up to him, unamused. 

“Hey, I’ll be gentle.” He protests, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Uh huh.” I push up, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as I reverse the situation on him, sending us to the ground with him on the bottom. My hips settle over his, gently resting him under me as I look down at his now pained face as he conceals his own moan. “Oh?”

He isn’t going to do it. But I’ll make him!

I wiggle down onto him barely, creating a bit of friction. I slowly rest backwards, taking as long as I could to drag myself back. His breath skips and even chewing his lip doesn’t help as he lets out a moan of his own, quietly grunting. 

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” I lean over him, kissing his forehead and working down the bridge of his nose until I end up at his lips, letting him settle his hands on my hips. 

“You can’t top.” He says finally, gripping my hips and sitting so I’m on his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Pushy.” I tease, rolling my eyes. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks suddenly, eyes flickering from my stomach to my own. 

“Is that a question?” I snort.

“Ladyship.” He asks firmly, gaze still gentle, but firm.

“Yes. I trust you with my life every day, after all.” I lean forward, kissing his forehead for a moment to think about that statement. It’s true… I trust him a million times over daily. I used to not sleep well knowing he had the shift, but now- feeling him looking at our surroundings puts me at ease. It’s no longer a ‘he’ and ‘me’ situation; it’s become an ‘us’. We’re one unit working for the same goal, no longer just one person tagging along with another. We can’t betray each other because we’d only end up hurting ourselves even worse. 

I hit the bedroll softly, feeling him press against my entrance as he sighs softly from the contact.

“Last chance to say no, Rowan…” He pauses. “And I swear if you tell me to fight you for it, I’m going to go crazy...”

Now it’s my turn to chuckle ominously. Has he still not figured out what that really meant? 

“That was to make sure I wouldn’t be giving myself to a smug asshole who can’t keep it in his pants.” I wrap my arms around his neck, softly kissing the corner of his mouth. “Because, you know, that’s what you were.”

“...Oh.” He pauses. “So I wasn’t supposed to actually fight-”

“Nope.” I scoff. 

He sighs, closing his eyes. “In my defence, you did torture me a lot.”

“Wasn’t aware.” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Seriously?” He snorts, barely above a growl. “Oh I’ll make you pay…”

“Huh?” I blink as I feel a hand plant itself on my breast, massaging as another slides up. Bishop presses forward slightly, adding new pressure and making me tense up under him.

“Easy.” He warns, kissing my neck softly. 

“Shut the hell up…” I tighten my grip on his neck, squeezing my eyes shut as I feel his lips dip down to replace his hand, nipping at the bud and driving my crazy. His hand dips between my legs, slowly circling my sex and forcing me to whimper.

“There we go…” He breathes against my skin. “I wonder what other sounds I can make you do?” He says smugly, feeling my legs curl around his waist without my permission. I try and relax, but as soon as I do he flicks his tongue and quickens his pace, sending sparks up my spine and hugging closer to him, a new wave of shivers washing over me. 

“Is this what happened in that dream of yours?” I tease, forcing myself to relax and loosen my grip on his waist. I pull myself up, shifting my hold from around his neck to his side, feeling the muscle flex under my touch.

“...No.” He declares, but I know better. 

“Right.” I laugh a bit, only for him to twist his hand hard enough for my moan to echo back to us from the entire cave. 

“My time.” He says firmly, switching out his hand. “...Ready, Rowan?”

“Yeah yeah. I’m not fragile, Bishop.” I take his mouth again, teasing my tongue along his lips as he fights to keep up.

“I know that.” He pauses, looking away guiltily. “Doesn’t make me any less nervous.” 

“I was ready for this months ago. I just didn’t think you were.” I tuck three fingers under his chin, gently guiding him so he looks me in the eyes instead of nothing in particular. “Come on, Bishop. Weren’t you going to make me forget?” 

He pauses, a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he look down on me. He thinks something over, perhaps pulling another line from one of his dreams. “I’ll fuck the memory out of you...I just need you to give me the green light, Ladyship…” He presses harder against me, and my breath catches as I’m nudged open. “Ready?”

“Hurry up.” I smirk, but truthfully I’m scared. I brace against him, muscles taught from anticipation. 

“Well fine.” He huffs, pushing into me slowly. I keep my eyes on him, but I can tell I’m losing it… with every passing moment I feel my senses heighten as I feel everything, the sensation reverberating up into me pleasantly. 

“Ah…” I moan, my head tilting upward as I strain against nothing. My grip tightens as I feel the tension below intensify, and Bishop kisses me to try and bring me back down. 

“Focus on me, Rowan…” He beckons and I follow, leaning into the kiss. 

“Mmm…” I wince as he’s finally fully in, feeling an unfamiliar twinge from my core. 

“My strong Dragonborn…” Bishop grins, still staring into my face. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I pause, thinking of what to say next. “You can...you know…” My face begins to heat up again. 

“If you’re adjusted…” He begins to move, and both of us immediately tense. “Gods…!”

“You’re so...Ah!” I cling to his back, not willing to let him go. It doesn’t hurt; but the feeling is way too good to describe with words. But I’m afraid. I can’t lose myself; I can’t afford to!

“Rowan…” He pushes into me again, and it’s a new wave of pleasure; I’m ragged, but I want so much more...and so does he. 

“Bishop, you aren’t going to break me, so-” He doesn’t let me speak, instead dipping down to my breast and taking it with his soft lips, sparking so intense a feeling my back arches and my toes curl. I squeeze my eyes shut, my breathing ragged. My core buzzes contently, and my body feels amazing! He picks up his pace, nearly losing himself as I feel his breath feather across my chest, sending shivers as it connects with the soft flesh. He’s holding himself back for my sake, I know. 

I begin to settle into the rhythm he sets, still unsure on whether or not I like the sensation. It’s tantalizingly good. I don’t know what happens if I give in to it; I don’t want to find out. But it continues at a slow pace at first, to where I can easily just enjoy its presence. But by recognizing just what I’m doing, and seeing Bishop’s masculine form over me… I feel heat between my legs, and Bishop grunts as soon as I do, amping that feeling tenfold as the position changes. That’s when the unsureness sets in, and my body moves with Bishop despite me not trying, and I whimper from the pleasure even though I was firmly biting my lip before.

All at once I feel my core skip and heat up, and my inner panic rises; what the hell is happening to me? What’s this? I don’t know!

“Bishop, I’m… what…?” I barely can translate my question and fear to actual words. Bishop slows down slightly, not replying, but continues steadily. The feeling grows more intense, threatening to rip  me apart as my body grows hotter. My vision goes white; I can’t think, I can’t translate anything to coherency, all I can do is just hang on to Bishop.

Gods…!

The feeling wells up and explodes, my body rippling as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ride the feeling out. But it seems to last forever….!

“What the hell!?” I finally come down, ever so slowly, my body still intact despite the euphoria. 

“Do I need to tell you what that was?” Bishop grins. I exhale, finally gaining a part of my brain back, and I connect the dots quickly. I shake my head no, and in receive a kiss despite my troubles. 

“Does that happen often?” My curiosity kills me… that...was probably the best feeling I’ve ever had. 

“For normal people? No. Will it be often when you’re with me? Yes.” He grins.

“Shut up, asshole…” I smirk. “Don’t get too full of yourself…”

“Well the only one full of anyone is…” He snorts, pausing.

“I’m going to kill you.” I narrow my gaze and stare into his bemused smile, feeling quite indignant. 

“No you won’t.” Bishop mutters beside my ear, hooking his arm around my waist and hauling us both into a sitting position, locking me in with him. He moves again, his hands wandering my curves and far below that freely. The rise and fall is different to before; and the same feeling comes running back. My core heats blissfully and I feel myself mimicking him by nature, and by doing so I quit thinking. I press my front to his, tucking my head into his shoulder to mask my gasps from the pleasure. “I wonder how fast I can make you have another…?” He says deviously. He leans back slowly, thrusting deeper.

I’m nearly losing my damn mind again; the best I can do is cling to him and try not to break. He feels so damn good… I’m scared; I’m not questioning anything he’s doing. I can’t; my mind is too occupied with bliss to even question. Is that why he asked if I trusted him…? I do; I wasn’t lying.

So…

I can just fully...let go, can’t I?

I think I can. 

I prepare myself for a few moments, trying to not focus on the onslaught of sensation that’s throwing my brain out of calibration. Alright…

I let go; simply just giving into the feeling my core is telling me and relaxing, working with Bishop slowly. My hands loosen their grip and instead I lean back a bit, my breathing coming more steadily and less forced. Whatever this feeling is… I’ll take it. Let’s see what happens.

“There you go, Rowan.” Bishop says, pleased. When I lean back, his thrusts focus into one spot, sparking another climax that appears out of nowhere. This one is slower. The heat begins to rise as I feel him in me, building with each stroke. Just a bit more...The climb is heavenly; my senses are on fire, but my body is so hot I’ve adjusted to the heat.

I kiss Bishop before I let out another sound, telling him that way that I’m close; and in response he speeds up to send me over the edge. 

A second wave rips through me, devoiding me of my senses fully. I slump forward into Bishop’s waiting grasp, slowly riding out the waves in his grasp. My breathing returns steadily and he pauses yet again to let me climb down slowly. 

“You alright?” He calls, a grin playing with his lips.

“I…it...amazing...” I pause, panting. I catch my breath and slowly make a sentence, finally summoning up the courage to say it. “I’m... fine.” 

“Good.” He slips backward, falling onto his back and keeping a grip on me. “Because I’m not finished with you.” 

“Wha…?” I question, exasperated. More!? I’ve gone far beyond what I would ever thing to do-

He shuts my mouth and mind with a kiss, silencing my fears. He pulls away, tugging me closer and thrusting, pleased when I yelp. The sensation spikes because of the proximity of my last climax, and now...the feeling from my sex is overwhelming. 

“Bishop…!” I call, sensing the imbalance between us. Bishop’s finally reaching whatever god-given limit he has, his breathing becoming as ragged as mine as he thrusts for his own urgency. 

“Rowan…” He pleads.

“Let go, Ranger. It’s okay.” I recover enough of my breath to kiss his cheek softly, my voice only spurring him on as I feel the urgency rise between us. 

His pace quickens and he hugs me to him, looking into my own glazed eyes. 

“You’re so damn beautiful.” He breathes. I’d chuckle if my mind wasn’t overridden with ecstasy… I’m beyond words at this point. 

“You aren’t too bad yourself….I think I like you with messy hair…” I breathe, giving him a quick kiss softly as I feel his breath catch. He’s so close…

I grind myself back onto him, disrupting the rhythm and pushing him closer to the edge. I break away from him slowly, sitting up and slowly taking control. As I do, Bishop’s eyes squeeze shut as the roles are reversed, with him now at my mercy. I pause to lean forward and kiss his chin, teasing him lovingly now that I can elicit some responses for myself…

I roll back, the friction of my sex driving him mad. He grunts, and his hands find their way to my hips, forcing me down farther and farther with each motion. 

“Rowan…!” He gasps, and I feel his hips tense as he pushes up farther.

“Gods!” I nearly scream, feeling the warmth spill into my core. We shudder as we send each other over the edge, both freezing where we were as our body is overloaded with pleasure. Bishop relaxes immediately after, breathing out a quiet sigh, while I’m left a quivering mess on top of him. And… I can’t believe I almost yelled that...

“Did I just...say that?” I’m the first to speak in order to react to what I just did. I slap a hand over my mouth in surprise, looking down at Bishop with wide eyes. He opens his eyes slowly, and upon seeing my face, lets out a loud snort at my internal predicament.

“It’s fine, Ladyship. In that situation, the Gods are fine with blasphemy.” He teases, propping himself up on his elbows. I blush more both from his comment and from my position, and I’m glad once he sets me down beside him on the bedroll. I continue to cover my face, way too embarrassed to even look at him. I...can’t believe I just did that… I’m fine with sex, I’m fine with...that, even, but being reduced down to a mewling girl is way too degrading for me. I roll so I’m facedown on the bedroll so I can deal with my indignity, feeling Bishop shuffle and lay the blanket over us both. He props up his head with an arm, patting my back lightly.

“Come on, it’s just me.” He pulls me to him, forcing me to show my face. “No need to be embarrassed. I hear you snore every night.”

“Watch it. And… I didn’t think I could make noises like that.” I mumble out, cheeks a noticeable pink.

“Personally, I thought it was nice to see the vulnerable side of you for once.”

“It just feels so…” I sigh, flipping onto my back and covering my eyes with a forearm. “Weird, giving up so much control. But...I did enjoy it.”

He stares contently into the fire, thinking something over. “About that...trust thing. It means a lot, actually.” His arm fidgets and he readjusts his position. 

“It’s almost like I love you or something.” I say sarcastically.

“Something like that, I guess.” He thinks that over for a few moments, content. “So now what do you think of him?”

“.......Who?” 

“Good.”

“I’m not going to ask.” I roll over. “Scoot over, Ranger.” He obeys, letting me lean into him, intertwining my legs with his. I lazily hug Bishop to me as I begin to drift off, shutting my eyes. He nestles me in beside him, draping an arm protectively over my shoulders so I’m tucked into his chest and nearly out of sight. “...Hey…”

“Just rest.” He insists, brushing my hair behind my ear and lulling me to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 302 pages later, and we *finally* get here. Congrats everybody; I'm going to celebrate by hiding under a rock until my face goes down a few shades.


	40. Leatherpunch... and just Punch

“Rowan…” 

“Nnnggg...what?” 

“Sun’s up. Breakfast.” He calls. I grumble for a few seconds more before sitting up, now finally noticing the lack of heat beside me. He’s been up for a while. “Are you okay?”

“Fine…” I scratch my head, sitting up and accepting the food handed to me. The fire’s not lit, but the cave is plenty bright due to the daylight. “Phew! I slept pretty well…” I stretch, cracking my back with a blissful sigh. Bishop sits at the other end of the bedroll with the waterskin, peering into my face as I rub the sleep out of the corners of my eyes.

“Me too.” He rolls his shoulders, still staring at me. “So I scouted up the road.”

“And you found something cool.”

“No.”

“Something expensive.”

“Wrong again.”

“Something useful?”

“Are you going to keep guessing?”

“...Something having to do with the color purple? Wait no, red.”

“How would that be a criteria to choose from?”

“Did it have to do with a lost dog who can talk?”

“Stop guessing.”

“I don’t question what you count as noteworthy.”

“Anyway…” He pauses, now considerably more annoyed. “I found a bunch of ashen spots with vampire dust strewn around the area in patches. It’s fresh; the wind scattered some, but most was caught on the rocks. Bottom of my boots are shiny now.”

“You do know that means you were stepping in fried vampire skin, don’t you?”

“You’re the one who sticks it in a potion and drinks it.”

“...Touché, Ranger.” I pause. “I guess that’s why there’s vigilants here.”

“You saw some?”

“One. He was going to Falkreath alone. If they’re splitting away from their pairs, it’s a big issue. That or there’s some already there, and he’s switching out with one.” I cross my legs, lacing up my boots and finishing my breakfast. “I bought some cleansing potions if something goes awry, so we’re fine.”

“I was just about to suggest we go do something else until they find the problem.” Bishop sighs, rubbing the base of his neck. “The bounty place I know is between Falkreath and Riverwood. If there’s vampires-which there are- their hunting grounds are going to be in the populated portion. Also known as  _ the entire area where we’re going to be. _ ”

I pull out my map, looking at the triangle created by Falkreath, Riverwood, and Helgen. He’s right. The population of Falkreath lives along Lake Illinalta, and even then the main concentration is on the eastern shore where the settlements are protected. Except for a mill or two, Falkreath tower is the western edge of civilization around here. 

“I see your point, but since when have we been scared of vampires?” I scoff, packing up my things. “I don’t fear them. We can heal sanguine vampiris. Don’t be a wimp.”

“I’m not being a wimp, I’m being sensible. We’re going to be in a frankly shitty house with a bunch of people who are known to be there day and night. It’s a perfect target for some vampires to hang around, waiting for you and I to stumble out drunk. Why don’t we wait for the vampire hunters to clear it out, so we can not get bit and worry about waking up with wings growing out of our backs!?”

“The vigilant was a newbie. They only sent one pair. I doubt it’s bad, and if it is, I doubt they’ll get anything substantial done anytime soon. If they don’t lose their lives, that is…”

“And you didn’t offer to help? Impressive. Perhaps you really did learn.” He says with a bit too much happiness. I strap on the rest of my armor, standing and packing the bedrolls carefully. Once he sees the camp disappearing Bishop stands too, yanking on his tattered armor and tugging his pack on. “...Rowan?”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“As much as I love hearing that line, I don’t like it from you.” He sighs. “What?”

“We go to Falkreath. We stay for a week, letting the vigilants clear out what they will in that time. Meanwhile, I make you new armor and a shortsword. It’s a win-win, Bishop.” I sling my pack on, waiting for a reply patiently. 

“The vampires are probably going to attack Falkreath!” He argues. “That’s kind of what I’m trying to avoid, Ladyship.”

“Yeah, but they have guards. Imperial-trained guards who recently just got bolstered due to the civil war…Besides, I won’t stay out after dark.” I cross my arms. He’s thinking it over quite seriously; biting his lip with his canine is a dead giveaway. Honestly, if he’d just quit being a stubborn old man, my life would be much easier. But I’m glad he isn’t. 

“Fine.” He sighs. “Just don’t make my armor ugly, okay?”

“Actually, your armor is going to be pretty kickass.” I step forward to him, brushing his worn armor. “I’m thinking a leather cuirass reinforced with ebony-steel, with faulds to match. And an ebony-steel waterfall spaulder to protect your left shoulder, since you’re right handed. Oh, and I’ll make you gauntlets with detachable arm guards. I learned that from a smithy from Hammerfell. So not really a full vambrace, since you prefer archery, but one that won’t make you suffer if you do switch to a sword. And as for your sword, I think a short leaf-blade would you suit you well. The tapered point and narrow blade will keep it pretty speedy. If you have a family crest, I’m sure I can put it on the pommel-”

“I don’t have a crest.” He says quickly. “And that sounds nice.” 

“Do you want a knuckle guard on your sword?” 

“Taken out of context, that sounds strangely sexual.” He says half-listening. I pause. No it doesn’t. What did he hear that as?

“Then I probably shouldn’t ask if you want a rod butt extension.” 

“Is that a thing!?”

“For sabres, aye.”

“How do you know so much?” He stupidly asks. I nearly smack myself and then him.

“Wow, it’s almost like I was a blacksmith or something!” I chuckle. “Man!”

“I thought you were a silversmith!”

“I went through training as a blacksmith, and then more training to be a silversmith!” I pause. How many years was it? “Like eight years in total!”

“Seriously!?”

“Yeah, plus my time as an assistant.” I cross my arms. “Dragonborn wasn’t my first job, Ranger.”

“Well I know that now.” He whistles. “Eight years.” 

“Yep.” I begin up the slope to the cave entrance, swinging around to watch him make the climb too. “I wonder if you’d look good in green…”

“I look good in anything, Rowan.” He smugly declares, swinging up into his saddle and tying down his pack. “Don’t get jealous once we get to Falkreath. Women just line up wherever I go, I swear.”

“Charge them a septim per kiss. Then pay for my drinks.”

“...You could at least care a little...”

...

“Falkreath...home of gamblers.” Bishop announces. “Well, that’s more Riverwood, but, you know. The hold in general.” We both climb down our horses in the stable of the inn.

“Are you sure that isn’t Riften?”

“Riften’s just the hold where they know about it.” Bishop smirks. “I’ve spent a lot of my time here.” 

“Kinda weird to think while I was in Markarth, you were here hunting.” I look to his features as I tug on my coin purse, tilting my head to the side. “I wonder what you looked like then.”

“Like I look now, but younger.” 

“...Well you aren’t wrong.” I count out twenty gold, looking to where the forge lay at the other end of town. “Rent our rooms for a week advance, and tell Valga I’ll pay the rest once I get there. I need to go buy supplies.”

“You don’t want to just buy one?” He grins deviously. 

“I…” I shake my head vigorously, feeling my face heat up again. “Bishop…”

“It was a joke, Ladyship.” He says, yet somehow once he leaves I sense perhaps he wasn’t fully joking. That’s probably going to cause issues later. 

It feels odd to walk on cobblestone with only my boots on. Falkreath is beautiful; I love the raw beauty of the forest. The geometry that dwarven ruins carry is nice to an extent, but there’s something about the verdant nature of forests that can’t be beat. 

I keep walking until I reach the general goods store. The door has a little bell that rings once I open it, beckoning Solaf back to the counter. It’s dark due to the lack of windows; the only light sources are a few goat horn candles on the counter and a rusted lantern on the table. 

“Welcome.” He gruffly acknowledges my presence.

He’s a soldier. Or at least was. The way he stalks back to the counter screams he was in combat. Which is odd to be able to tell by just a few steps, but soldiers have a way of walking and an air about them even out of war. The lack of a spring in their step from marching and concealing their footfalls, and the centered shoulders to make blocking easier… I can tell he’s seen some battle.

Imperial or Stormcloak? Falkreath is imperial, but considering the way he eyes me, I’d bet he isn’t the most friendly to the townspeople. So he might not necessarily share the same ideals. Stormcloak it is.

“...What can I getcha?” He says at last, forcing a smile.

“All of your steel, ebony, and leather. And I’d like to see your dye if you have any.” I don’t react; I just stare around the room at various objects. 

“Sure thing.” He begins pulling what I asked for from underneath the counter. I watch the hand movements. They’re slow and diligent, and by the way he hits the wood with his knuckles, he puts some power behind it. Stormcloak still. They prefer more heavy weapons like ancient nords which require more strength. I would imagine that eventually they would get acclimated to the extra weight. Well, let’s test this theory. 

“Stormcloak?” I finally ask, earning myself a moment of horror and fixation from him.

“How!?” He quickly snaps, nearly dropping the ingot. “I mean, I’m not quiet about it, but you’re an outsider, aint ya?”

“Yeah.” I blink. “So?”

“So how did you know? Someone tell you?” He peers at me with a renewed interest as he gathers my items. 

“Just an observation. Peace.” I soothe, taking a cursory glance at a sheet of leather. “I don’t mean anything of it.”

“Why?”

“It pays to know an assassin from a bartender.” I tug at another sheet.

“That’s amazing.” He leans on the counter, straining forward. “So you can tell everything about someone by just looking at em’?”

“I’m not clairvoyant.” I snort. “Wish I was.”

“You’re near it, if you didn’t know I was a stormcloak before. I ain’t got anything around that would have told you.”

“I can tell by the way you conduct yourself. But I need real practice predicting people’s intent. I’m not too good at that.”

“Yeah? That’d be useful to know.”

“More than you know.” I chuckle, hand darting to my stomach as I finally look into his eyes. I pull at a bottle of green dye. I push it to my side of the counter along with the ingots and leather. “Got any red?”

“Mayhap.” He ducks under the counter, rummaging around before pulling out a similar bottle of red liquid. “Don’t get this on yourself- it’ll look like you committed murder!”

“Thanks for the warning. How much?”

“Two Ebony...Three hundred… five iron...two hundred… seven leather… seventy...dye...twenty. You do the math.”

“Five ninety.” I place my gold on the table. “I have an emerald.” 

“Let me see.” He pats the counter in anticipation as I set down the emerald. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the nords were never into different cut styles and grades. They just like anything that shimmers. 

“Worth six hundred, and then some.” I lean against the counter, letting him decide.

“You got it appraised?”

“I’m a silversmith. I am the appraiser.” I flash the rings on my finger, tapping them. “Though between you and me, if you got someone who doesn’t know too much, you could push it to eight hundred, easy. It isn’t too clear, but it’s size is larger than most cut emeralds.”

“...Oh.” He swipes it off the table. “Deal.”

“Nice doing business with you.” I roll up the leather, wedging it between my waist and my backpack.

“Can you carry all those ingots?” He asks, watching me stack three. 

“I mean I can, but perhaps not all at once…” I pick up the three. “Can you help me take these to the forge?” 

“I can…” His neck twists to look up the ladder. “Bolund! Help the lass, will you!?”

“Brother?”

“Aye. He can take two.” He looks into my arms. “You have three!?”

“...Yes.” I look down at my armload of the ebony and a steel ingot. “Why?”

“...Nothing.” He decides as Bolund climbs down the stairs. I look to him, then Solaf, then back to Bolund... 

“You guys have the same damn face!”

“We’re identical twins.” Bolund chuckles, grabbing two ingots. “Where to?”

“Smelter. I got lots to do…”

…

My fingers ache as I make buckles on Bishop’s armor, my fingers crying out as I manipulate the steel into a small bar, then break off the individual parts for clasps. It’ll be hard enough to lace them together, but I’ll do that later.

Instead, I seem to have gathered an audience. And it isn’t my Ranger.

“Hello.” I call out to the bush beside the forge, seeing the little chestnut-topped head shake a bit. “Are you watching me?”

I see it quiver a bit again.

“Come up to the forge. I don’t bite.” I coax, watching the figure dart out of the bush. It’s a little girl, with a soot stained smock on her front. 

“I’ve never seen you fore’.” She admits, bouncing up the stairs. She’s thin and wiry, without much muscle...or anything, for that matter. Her brown hair and tawny skin denote her as a worker, and I can’t seem to find much light behind her eyes. Skyrim is tough for everyone; but children endure the brunt of it. It hit her early on.

“No, I’d be surprised if you had. I’m a traveller.” I continue with my work, immediately noticing as her gaze follows the movement of my hands as I clip steel down.

“Whatcha makin’?” Her language is rough. She certainly isn’t noble-born, and she isn’t an apprentice. Down here, that’d either make her a miner, logger, or servant’s kid. There isn’t much hope for her; she’d follow in her parents footsteps and would die all the same. I wonder if I can even the odds and tempt the wheels of the caste system for a bit…

“Do you want to make something? I can teach you how.” I grab the remnants of the steel ingot I had. I was going to use it on the other bits, but considering it’s shape, I can easily forge this into a blade. I had only used a small portion for the buckles, so I still have a sizeable chunk heating.

She studies my character curiously, looking over my armor and wandering down to the potions along my belt. The knife in the square of my back interests her in particular, the gilded elven dagger holding her fixation for some time. And after that brief period of silence comes the rapid fire of questions.

“Are you a smith?” 

“First trade I ever learned.”

“And a warrior?” 

“That too.”

“Do you know magic?”

“I do.”

“Can you use a bow?”

“I use it for more than hunting.”

“What about a sword?”

“I can use two. At the same time.” She ‘oohs’ at that one.

“What about a hammer? Or a greatsword? Or an axe?” 

“I can, though I prefer swords.” I pause, looking her over. “You want to be a warrior?” I look over her small body. Nord. Scrawny. Shy. Yeah, she’d do nicely in this trade. The hotheads who get everything by chance are the ones to go first.

“I wanna, but my dad says there’s no way I’d be able.” She looks down at herself. “I got no muscle, imma lady, and I ain’t got anything.”

“Muscle comes with time. Ladies can do whatever they want and still kick ass. And as for the last, well… we can change that.” I swing around from what I was doing. I could make some steel armor for someone her size in less than half a day. “I can make you any armor you’d like. Have anything in mind, swordswomen?” 

“That armor the warriors wear! With the iron bits!” She jumps excitedly, looking to me. “Can you make that?” Studded leather, like the wandering adventurers have. Light and durable, with enough protection to survive battles but not enough to become uncomfortable. The warrior’s second skin. Some people even sleep in it. Interesting that that’s what she’d like, but hey. Who am I to deny a kid.

“I can. I definitely can.” I smirk. She’s quite cute. Bishop’s armor can wait; I have a little girl who I need to gear up. “Come over here. I need to take measurements.” 

She marches up to my workbench where I was sitting, stretching her arms out like a mannequin and keeping still. I bring out a piece of leather and hold it against her, marking out lines and once I get the form, I bring out my measuring string. 

“What is your name?” I ask, wrapping it around her small bust and midriff. “All swordswomen need names. Good ones.”

“I only have one!”

“Well, you can always change it.”

“I can?” 

“People will call you whatever you want if you have a sword and know how to use it.” I grin. “So?”

“Kildis.” She drops her arms as I draw the leather away. “But who are you?”

“I am Rowan the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun and Riften. But your name is good too.” 

“You must be pretty important to have three names.” She breathes.

“I am, but it isn’t because I’m special. I’m just a normal person.” I face her again. “Like you.”

“You are? Ya’ don’t look it, Rowan.” She looks at me with wide eyes, finally beginning to bear curiosity behind them. Before, she looked slightly dead; as if monotony had already killed her. I’ll feel better if this can bring back some wonderment about the world.

“I am.” I nod, bringing a bar of steel from the forge.  Now watch closely, okay? To make a sword, first you forge in the tip and tang…” I hammer in the point, shaping where the tang will be and flattening the blade itself. Years of practice make this step fly by; the scale shatters on the floor as the red hot flakes dance near the girl, exciting her even more at the making of her blade. I roughly begin to shape it, but it’s still a hunk of metal; and she seems disappointed when I quench the blade and inspect the patchy black piece. I run my wire brush over the blade again and again, scratching the slag off the surface and making a sound like dying cats. She screeches and covers her ears, still watching with a slightly pained expression now. Once I stop, she removes her hands and looks to the still black bar. 

“That ain’t a sword!” She laments. 

“Not yet.” I switch over to the grinder, pleased she follows. Again she watches my hands as I grind down the point and blade, the hardest part, slowly bringing the black exterior off to reveal the smooth steel she recognizes. “You know what a sword looks like, right?” I look down at the blade. The spare bar I had in there is just enough for a small sword that will be a bit big for her, but she’ll grow into it.

“I do!” She protests, still watching me grind the blade.

“The first part of making a sword is just setting up for what you want it to look like. You make a nice, thick handle, and you hammer it down so it looks like a sword shape. But the grinder is where the artistry comes in. You want to leave a fuller, the ridge in the middle, but you need to give it a nice edge that isn’t too thick. So you grind at an angle, evenly, to give you that. It takes a while, and it pays to do it slowly, but it’s my favorite step since it lets me think. And you don’t get too hot from the forge.”

She leans forward, wanting to touch the blade in my hands. I keep going, roughly grinding out the edges slowly, making a fine, curved point on the top that won’t go dull quickly. I do enough to act as a guide. The refining can be left up to her.

“Do you want to do this?” I ask, looking up to her hazel eyes.

“Aye!” She cries, trying to grab the blade from me. I stop the whetstone and get up, holding the blade in my hands. 

“You watched me sharpen my knife earlier, right?” 

She nods.

“You saw how long it took me, right?”

She nods again.

“This sword will be yours. This is your tool for you to use. So when you do this, do it well. It may be the difference between walking away from a fight and being buried. Understand?”

She swallows, nodding again. It didn’t scare her, but being handed the will-be sword with stern words only served to entice her more. If anything, it’ll give her a hobby, but if she truly wants this, I’ll be damned if I make it seem commonplace. She’s been fostered by the epic tales they sing at the tavern; and I want to make it real for her. 

That was hard for me to grasp at first. The only fighters I knew in Markarth were the drunken mercenaries, laughing with crude language and trying to fight anything in their grasp. Hearing the nordic stories of quests and adventure made true warriors seem like nothing but fantasy. I’d sit in front of the bard for hours, even with Apolinus and Vorstag asleep on my shoulders. It was a nice escape, but once I was on my own and holding a blade, I finally started to understand that good warriors actually existed, and I could be one. I’ll make sure that revelation comes early for her.

“Here you go.” I hand it to her, watching her sit at the wheel. I crouch beside her, watching her angle the blade against the stone slowly. “A bit down more. You want the fuller I marked to slope down to the blade. No more, no less. You want it that wide. Too wide a fuller and the blade won’t have a proper edge. Too little and it’ll break.”

She follows my instructions, switching her hold on the blade. In my hands, the thing looked like a long dagger; to her, it’s a proper sword. She’s a bit over four feet tall, and the sword itself is slightly over two. I could be done with it in an hour or two, but I want her to do it. If she picks it up, perhaps she could be a smith. And from there, maybe a warrior.

“Okay, good.”

“So I press on the pedal?”

“Slowly, but with force. You don’t want to wear yourself out, and you don’t want to go too fast, but you don’t want to go slow, either. Go from the base of the blade to the tip, over and over, until you like the edge.”

And so the stone spins, with the sparks flying from the blade. They don’t phase her at all. She just stares intently at her sword, waiting for the blade to emerge. 

I get up from my watch, grabbing some scrap I had from making the bar. I pop it back into the smelter, watching it melt and pouring it into a smaller bar mold. I cool it, and break off what I need for a pommel and guard. The pommel is simple; I just compress the piece into a cylindrical block and call it a day. But the guard is crucial. I hammer out a rectangle until it’s thin, switching from forge to anvil as I punch a hole in the steel just wide enough for the handle. I quench it and set them both on the bench. 

…

“I think itsa’ sword!” She proclaims, stopping the wheel to let me look. I look up from punching leather to look at the piece, now a shiny silver. She did a good job with it; it’s rough, and a bit uneven in places, but it’s hers.

“I think it is too.” I sit on my bench, letting her bring it over. 

“Needs a handle, anna’ cross thing.” She looks to me.

“A pommel…” I bring out the cylinder, meant to counterbalance the sword. “And a guard.” I bring out the other piece. “See that piece of leather on my bag?” She looks, grabbing it off. 

“Now we finally put the finishing touches on the blade…” I slip the guard over the tang, wedging it down against the blade. She hands me the leather, and I take it to the bench, making sure she can see what I’m doing. I cut very long piece of leather that almost consumes the whole sheet, looping it under the guard and wedging it further to seal the start of the handle. I wind it around the tang over and over, cushioning where her hand will grip it. Next, the pommel goes on, and I slide it over the final bit of the tang and wedge it down, sealing it with resin to keep it from coming off. 

“Is it ready!?” She asks excitedly, fiddling with her hands.

“I think it is.” I slide my hand along it, tapping the blade in places to let her hear the metallic ring it makes. I hand it to her with a grin, watching how her gaze becomes trapped by the blade as she picks it up, planting her hand on the hilt and holding it like a warrior. 

“It’s perfect!” She breathes. 

“It’ll serve you well.” I was afraid she’d swing it around like a maniac, but it seems she’s quite reserved. She respects it, which prompts me to unveil her next gift… “Now let’s see if this will fit you.” I stand and hammer in the final studs for the kilt portion, bringing it out for her inspection. 

“I’ll go change into it now!” She grabs it in the hand not holding the sword, dashing off and out of sight. I shake my head despite the smile on my face and set back to working on Bishop’s armor, looking to the sun setting on me already. I’ve barely even begun on Bishop’s armor. The only thing I’ve finished is the hood, and a bit of the belt. Small children distract me easily, okay!?

“Rowan!” She calls from the steps. I turn, and immediately feel nostalgia as I look upon Kildis. Her face is smudged with dirt, her hands are ragged, but she stands proud in her armor with her sword firmly in hand. 

“I almost mistook you for an adventurer.” I say, watching how she straightens herself at my words, trying to make herself appear taller. 

“I am an adventurer!” She argues.

“No, adventurers have gone on adventures. You’re just a swordswomen for now.” 

“I’ll practice every day, and then I’ll go see Solitude.” She decides. “My mom’s there, somewhere. I’ll find her.”

“Solitude? The city?” I look up at the ceiling, thinking about the walled city. High society and class mingle there; the exact opposite of Falkreath. If that’s her goal, I can only guess what kind of ambition she has. “A worthy goal.”

“And I’m going to see erry’ corner of Tamriel.” She decides. 

“Try Solitude first. Then go to every corner.” I’d tell her the world is round, but I don’t want to dishearten her. “But for now, focus on growing. Practice on logs, and not other people. Okay?” I smirk, finishing the only buckle I’ve done today. 

“‘Kay!” She bounces forward, looking at what I’m doing. “I’ll be bigger someday. I swear it!”

“Well, I need you to promise me one thing.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Use that sword-and the ones that come after- only when you need to. Protecting yourself, feeding yourself, or protecting the ones you love only. Got it?”

“Got it.” She nods back.

“Good.”

“Rowan, why did you become a warrior?”

“Necessity.” I lean back. “That...and...I didn’t want to die a housewife, I suppose. It’s a fine occupation, but it wasn’t for me.” 

“Oh.” She quiets down. From far off I hear a sharp whistle blow twice, and she immediately perks up again and looks to me. “Gotta go!”

“Alright. Remember what I told you. And don’t scare your parents with that sword, alright?” I see her wedge it in her belt. “And make a scabbard for it somehow. Probably should have done that. Whoops.” 

“I will!” 

She won’t.

“Bye Rowan!” She calls, skipping the steps and drawing her sword before her feet hit the ground. Her armor fits to her well as she sprints off towards the source, probably a small cottage in the wood.

“Goodbye, kid.” I sigh, looking to the orange sky in front of me. “Drinking time!”

“Yeah really.” Bishop says, finally coming to where I could face him.

“Gods, Bishop!” I loosen my grip on my dagger, sliding it back into its sheath on my back.

“See? If I had been a vampire, you’d be craving blood right about now.”

“No I wouldn’t. Sanguine vampiris doesn’t start to show signs until nearly two days after contraction, since it lays dormant-”

“Quit being a nerd.”

“Done.” I lean against the workbench. “Are you bringing me a bottle, or did you just come here to scare me?” The golden bottle he tosses me answers that question. 

“A bottle of cider for the teacher.” He grins. “I’d give you apples, but this is a much better gift. Like an apple’s older brother.”

“Agreed.” I uncork it, taking a swig. I haven’t drank anything all day- too preoccupied with the girl.

“You’re a good teacher.” He notes. “A kid like that wouldn’t pay attention to someone droning on and on.”

“Well, I let her do something, and I give her points while she does it. Experience is a better teacher than I am.” 

“Why did you teach her, though?” He pauses. “Now you’ll need more steel. And you lost an entire day.” He sighs. “You’re a lot nicer than I am… I would have told her to scram.”

“Dunno. Reminded me of myself, I guess.” I gather my things together back into my pack, sadly looking at what little progress I’ve made. Ah well. I’ll still be done before the week is over. I walk forward, ruffling his hair as I walk down the steps. “Besides, I’m the nice one. Just be sure to pull me back when I’m too nice, and we’ll be good.”

“Yeah. I need to do that often. Just about every time you meet someone.” He grins. “But kids are okay.”

“I like kids.” I say idly as we walk along the cobblestone. “Though they’re usually a reflection of their parents. So occasionally they’re just as shit as the adults.”

“True.” He looks into the setting sun as we head to the inn. “Would you ever want kids?”

“Maybe.” I sigh, crossing my arms as I give him a curious look from the side. “Perhaps if I ever settle down, but I don’t feel like that’ll ever happen.”

“It will eventually. After we get these bounties taken care of.” Bishop twirls one of his arrows in between his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance.”

“It isn’t the bounties I’m worried about.” I adjust my pack, shaking my head at the thought of my enemies. “It’s fate. The dragonborn always dies from combat; that’s how the bloodline works. I’ll get older, I’ll grow tired, and I’ll die fighting. If I kill Alduin, that’s it. If I don’t, there’s going to be another dragonborn to replace me. ”

“Well this suddenly got dark…” Bishop looks to me. 

“What?”

“The...sky. The sky got dark.” He bullshits.

“It did.” I grin at his bad job of trying to mask how he shifted. “Bishop, I’m fine with it. Calm yourself.”

“I just didn’t know that.” He scratches his neck awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Hey, maybe this will be the first time. Who knows. I don’t know what will happen once Alduin’s gone. I could die, or I may be left to my own devices. But I can’t settle until then.” I shrug. “Besides, you’re doing a pretty good job at extending my life anyhow. I’m thankful you’re a good tracker.” I stretch. “Would have died on the wall in Markarth. Or with the wispmother. Or even back in Windhelm to some bad murderer.”

“You seriously need to start listening to me. All of that could have been avoided if you just followed what I said.”

“Eh, but that’d be a boring life. Playing detective was fun!”

“Getting betrayed by Vorstag was fun?”

“Okay, not all of them were fun.” I pull open the door to Dead Man’s Drink. “But hey, we’re alive and well. Counts for something.”

“Thanks to me.” Bishop says smugly, sitting at our usual place in the corner. He motions a four to the barmaid, letting me sit next to him. 

“Thanks to you.” I confirm. “But if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be holding up that wall in Riverwood.”

“Would not. I’d be holding up a wall in Whiterun.” He protests. “I would have wanted a change in scenery considering how long it’s been.”

“Probably.” I accept my two drinks from the woman, placing some more coin in her hand to pay for some food. 

“Oh yeah, here.” He places the twenty gold back in my palm. 

“Didn’t I give you this for the rooms?” I push the coins around with my thumb.

“I have money too. You split bounties with me, I can pay for some things.” He leans back. “Besides, at this point, there isn’t much of a difference.”

“True.” I nod my head, drinking deeply from my tankard. “It’s mostly just two sums of our gold at this point, I suppose.”

“Unless you’re going to send me away sometime soon.” He drinks from his tankard too.

“Are you fishing really badly, or…?”

“Hey, you could.”

“You may be an ass, Bishop, but I…” I pause, blinking into the amber inside my tankard. “I do...eh…love you...so...I’m not going to send you away.”

He doesn’t say anything in reply; just smirks at his drink.

“You just wanted me to say it again.”

“Maybe.” He admits as a man comes over with our food. 

“Thanks.” I gladly accept the pasty. “Did you rent one room or two?”

“One.”

“So that’s why you used your own gold.” I lean back against the table. “Sneaky.”

“Hey, it’s the comfy double bed. Don’t complain, Rowan. It was the only one left. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m not, I’m not.” I lean back, finishing my second tankard. “You going to get to yours?”

“Yes, yes I am…” He picks up his second mead defensively. “We need to work on that alcoholism…”

“It doesn’t affect me.” I slam down my empty tankard, facing the crowd. You could tell the adventurers from the townspeople. Those with an ordinary life sat correctly at the long tables, facing the tables. Those of us who were wary of what could creep up on a person all sat backwards on the bench, using the table as a backrest. In particular I saw the vigilant I spoke to earlier along with a sheepish looking man with bandages winding around his right arm and his side, denoting him as injured. They and another beefy looking man were the only two who faced the center. “Bishop, see the two vigilants?”

“Yeah.” He looks them over, tracing the faces of the two. “They don’t look better than me.”

“Not that.” I bat his shoulder from where I sit. “Can you make out what injured the guy?”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Your eyes are better than mine.”

“Yeah they are.” He announces proudly. “That’s why I won the shooting contest.”

“Okay Robin Hood, keep it in your lincoln green tights.” I keep looking. “I’m thinking you’re right about the vampires, though.”

“I was always right about the vampires. What are you talking about?” He turns his head to me sharply. “Did you not believe me?”

“I didn’t call you a liar, Ranger. But I guess it may be a bit worse than I thought.” I pause. “I’ll ask.”

“Don’t ask.”

“I’m going to do it.” 

“I swear Rowan, just leave it alone.” He leans back, finally getting to his second tankard. “Don’t do it. People suck. They won’t tell you. It’ll just be self-righteous bullshit.”

“Nah, I’m going to ask.” I stand up, making eye contact with the younger one. He gives me a shy, awkward smile, and dips his head back. I walk over and address them both, noting the dead stare the injured one gives me.

“Vigilants.” I greet, giving my tilted nod so I get their full attention. How do I go about asking about this…? They usually don’t want to disclose full details about their ranks. Something about shapeshifters and the like, so this may take some conversation. “Are you here on business?”

“Is it obvious? What tipped you,  _ the fact that we’re here? _ I wouldn’t waste my time pissing around here if it wasn’t business.” The injured one sneers. He’s an older man, and the injuries have only served to make his image even more coarse and ragged. His robes are tattered in places as if claws ripped through them, and the healthy glow in his face is gone. “Go away, girl. We don’t have anything you’d want. Begone with ye’. Back to your booze.” 

I can hear Bishop growl from the corner, displeased at the rude reply. I’m angry at it too; but unlike the ranger I can keep my head and tongue under check.

“Actually I was thinking I could help you out.” I explain. “We’re-”

“I don’t care. Leave! Or I’ll beat ya’ even with this arm of mine! I said to leave, and I mean it. We don’t need your help, even if you were the Queen’s general.” The man barks. The younger vigilant beside him bristles, looking to me with a soft face as if trying to apologize for his superior. 

“So be it.” I narrow my gaze at him, my patience wearing thin. Bishop is nearly ready to deck him, but we’ll be the better pair in this. I turn on my heels and walk back, feeling the old man burn a hole in my skull with his stare.

“Told you not to go over.” Bishop says, barely loud enough to be heard over the bustle. I lost a lot of face in the tavern by backing down; but that isn’t an issue-

Are they laughing at me? Three men along the wall all laugh together after some quick glances to me. Two face the wall, flanking a man facing the center who stares directly at me. 

_ “Girlie got shot down.” The man chuckles. _

_ “Talked down to by an injured old man.” The one beside him snorts, sipping his tankard. _

_ “The vigilants are tough ones, ain’t they? Though she doesn’t look like much.”  _

_ “The armor is for looks then, I’d wager. What is it, chitin?” _

_ “Aye. Who’s the cove next to her?” _

_ “Dunno. Probably the one hauling her everywhere. His armor is in rags; guess he’s doin’ the work?” _

_ “Safe bet. But she has that scar on her cheek like that…” _

_ “Mayhap it’s from a dog or a kitten. You can get scarred by parchment, you know.” _

“Rowan…” Bishop blinks his own rage away as he sees mine boil. “Rowan, you’re prideful, and I understand that, but this may not be a good time to prove it…” He tugs at my armor, glaring at the ones talking. “I’m all one for getting revenge, but stab them in their sleep or something…” 

“Sorry, can’t hear you over all this pride.” I summon a large dagger, standing up quickly and sending the knife spinning through to the side of their table. It sticks in with a loud hollowed noise, barely quivering with the force I sent it with. The men stop speaking all at once, and glance towards me, whispering amongst each other. I crack my knuckles despite the Ranger’s protests from behind me, rolling my shoulders.

“Excuse me for not fighting an injured man. But I have no qualms with fighting you.” I challenge him loudly, catching the attention of everyone in the inn. The innkeeper just leans against her counter, letting it go down. 

“Yeah?” The man facing the center stands, rolling his knuckles. “What, wanting to prove that gear isn’t for show?”

The young vigilant is scared out of his wits; he’s the only one who actually knows who I am. My eyes flicker to him for a moment and I press a fingertip to my lips, earning his silence. I want to beat these guys. 

“Only thing I’m trying to prove is that your dick is in your ego instead of your manhood,  _ friend _ .” I crack my wrists and elbow idly, waiting for him to circle. I’m already on the center of the floor, waiting. Let’s see if he takes the bait. I can hear Bishop nearly dying from behind me, doing all he can to keep his stoic complexion here...and he’s failing. 

“Why…” He spits into the fire, the pop it creates scaring the crowd watching.

“Why what? Why do I know?” I taunt further. “Come on man, you know the language. But I suppose with how you look, mommy didn’t teach you much.” I look him over. He’s in steel armor reinforced with horns, with a blood-stained warhammer on his back. His darkened skin and blue eyes make him seem surreal, with the meaty muscle in his neck pulsing at every word I say. He’s like a human horker. He’s a beast of a man already in stature, reaching over six foot, but he’s abused drugs from Elsweyr to where his muscles have swelled like melons, and we’re no longer in the usual human range anymore. He isn’t fat by the usual definition. He’s just unnaturally muscular to where he’s like a giant sumo wrestler. 

“And what’s a bitch like you trying to do? Fight me? You don’t look strong enough to split wood, let alone fight me.” Was...that an insult? Man. Insert ‘I’ll split your wood’ innuendo here. 

“He’s trying to insult me, I know it.” I look to a part of the crowd. “Can anyone translate dumbass? Was that offensive? I really don’t know.”

“Maybe you’re just too stupid to understand, girlie.”

“Girlie? That the worse you got?” I snort. “Want me to call you mann-ie? More like manatee, Tubbo. Look at your stomach. Can you see your feet?” 

“Fucker!” He dashes forward and swings, initiating the fight. Of course I dodge out of the way, striking the inside of his elbow and earning myself enough time to slug him across the face. He doesn’t feel it of course; with that much fat on him, I doubt he’d feel much of anything. It’s like trying to club a seal with a ruler. 

“Was that a punch? I honestly couldn’t tell!” He jeers, looking to the ring that’s gathered around us.

“Same goes to you. Were you punching me or trying to grab something? Just because we’re roasting each other doesn’t mean I actually give you a roast, fatty.” 

He swings at me again, and nearly gets me as it grazes my cheek, spinning me off balance for a second. A second hand punches my arm, connecting directly to the nerves so my arm immediately goes numb. Great.

I force it to raise again despite the lack of feeling, and I get a quick left hook in between his own assault. His arms are as thick as my legs, and by the graze I just took, I can’t take a direct hit. Bishop looks both concerned and angry at me for initiating this, but like I said, I’m a slave to my pride. And it’s telling me to beat this guy against the firepit. 

A stray hook catches my nose, and a crack is heard audibly throughout the room. Everyone winces as we both momentarily reel from the motion, me grabbing at my face and him laughing triumphantly at me.

“I think I just broke something!” He cheers, laughing at me. 

“Who  _ nose _ ?” I smirk to myself, seeing Bishop slap a hand over his eyes as he breathes out a quiet sigh. I initiate the fight again, weaving between his strikes and trying my best to reciprocate once I get openings. When he tires himself slightly I spin on my heels, putting all my strength into slamming my palm into his chest only to get no effect. That’s distressing. Usually that’s enough to break a man’s sternum; he only stumbled back for a few steps.

“You know, I really gotta say…” I duck under another swing. “I’m impressed you can do this much with just punches. After all, I don’t think your legs can…” 

“Shut up!” He interrupts. “Just die already!” 

“-Can reach up high enough to kick me!” I jeer. He wants to prove me wrong, and I’m counting on it. When he puts distance between us I understand he’s looking to bridge the gap with a side kick, and I can’t do anything about it at this distance. I’m much shorter than him, and he has the advantage at this range...or so he thinks.

I make like I’m going to get closer, sliding to the right to put as much distance between me and the kick, but still in range for it to hit me. Sure enough his leg pops and swings, the steel toed boots coming straight for my cheek. 

Bishop has a habit of stunning anyone he fights, me included occasionally, by slamming a fist into anywhere with flesh, compressing the muscle and causing massive amounts of pain. In addition to pressure points, humans have weak spots where things just… hurt more, because there’s less to stop a strike. The inside of the arm, the ribs, under the armpit... the inner thigh…

I catch his leg, wrapping an arm around the offending ankle as I put my best straight into the inside of his leg, hearing a high pitched yelp as he tries to recoil. I held back, and he should thank me for that. I could have snapped his femur, and then he’d have probably just passed out on the spot from the pain. But I really don’t want that interaction with the guards. While he goes slack I yank his leg backwards and down, sending him face-first to the ground as he loses his balance, and I hold him there for a few moments with his leg as my captive to allow me time to plant a boot on his back. 

“Call me David because I think I’ve slain Goliath.” I bring up my boot, watching his chest rise slowly. “Never mind; we’re good.”

“You should have broken it, Rowan.” Bishop shakes his head from the sidelines. 

“Yeah well I didn’t want to heal it.” I summon magic to my fingertip, setting my nose and healing it back up. The circle breaks as I shove the guy away, walking towards Bishop. “I think when I grabbed his leg with my left hand I accidentally hit his boot and broke a finger.” 

“Shit. Are you okay?”

“Nah, but on the other hand, I’m fine.”

“Why do I even ask?”


	41. Tested Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I accidentally forgot to post an update on the fourth, so...merry late Festivus, everyone! Have a 22 page update!

“Bishop, quit sulking in the bushes and get your ass in here. I need to take measurements.” I call to where he had been formerly hanging around. “Gods man, just step up.”

“There’s more dust everywhere, Rowan.” He looks on the bottom of his boot. “And ever since you mentioned that skin thing, I’m thoroughly disgusted with walking on the street…”

“Don’t be a baby. It’s like the blood of your enemies, only flakier.” I pause. “Just don’t inhale it. That’d be gross.” 

“...Don’t make me imagine that.” He walks up the steps, unwillingly letting me loop my string around his chest and waist. 

“Too late.” I tug my string along his side, stooping down and looping it around his thigh and inseam.

“This feels like we should be in private…” Bishop comments as I pull the string flat against the inside of his thigh. 

“Shut up. I’m down here for measurements, Ranger. And not of that.” 

“Aw come on, you’re going to have to make room for it, won’t you?”

“Test me, Ranger, and I’ll make it out of wool.”

“...You wouldn’t.”

I walk over to my bag, pulling out a long wool sheet I use to line cowls. I snap it in my grasp, showing him I’m serious. 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Regardless, it’s day three, Bishop.” I draw my string away, marking down the measurements onto the cloth. “I’ll be done overmorrow; are we doing business week or full week?”

“Full week.” He says, disgruntled. “Why the hell would we do five days!?”

“Because if I didn’t finish the armor, we wouldn’t go at all. That was the agreement. Five would constrain my time, seven would lengthen the stay.” 

“Damn...you’re right. Can I switch my answer?”

“No. How was hunting?”

“Not much. Karnwyr found a bear; that was the only thing noteworthy.” He shrugs. “Want the pelt?”

“Too heavy. I can’t have Ashes carry a ton of stuff  _ and  _ two dwarven spiders. I already had to take out a massive portion of their cage so it wouldn’t be such a burden.”

“Fine, just trying to be nice.” He sits down on the workbench, watching me stretch the dyed fabric over the leather.  It looks alright. I pull it away and punch holes into the fabric resembling the curved steel plates I have to reinforce the cuirass. I already have the pauldron done; it’s a pretty thing that’s just as good as it looks. The tiered plates start from Bishop’s shoulder at the same angle, then steeply drop and lead down his arm like scales, imitating that of a dragon. They can swivel with ease, letting Bishop move his arm freely yet still have the protection of a pauldron. I’m so great at my job.

The deep green hue of the dyed leather makes it difficult for me to see my needle as I stitch the leather together, pulling it towards Bishop every once in a while to make sure it fits. It’s always a gamble by adjusting for the person’s frame; if you make the waist too small, the entire piece is useless. I need it to fit snugly, but I don’t want to stick Bishop in a damn corset. I notch the leather under the right side to keep the Pauldron belt from slipping, and that’s the cuirass done.

“Surprisingly, it does actually look quite kickass.” Bishop observes. “I approve, Ladyship.”

“I knew you would.” I grin, wiping my hands on a nearby cloth. I lay the leather hood on top, and begin to work on the faulds. They’ll be easy...now where did I put my punch? And my mallet!?

…

“Day six.” Bishop walks up. “The vigilants still haven’t come back yet.”

“Maybe they finished, and went off. There hasn’t been an attack in two days.”

“Maybe.” Bishop crosses his arms, leaning against the forge’s post. “Maybe not.”

“Oh calm down. We aren’t afraid of vampires.”

“I already gave you the speech once, I’m not doing it again.”

“I don’t get drunk easily, and you have the senses of a deity. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you think. The place is pretty rough; it exports more than goods, Rowan.” He nods towards the bench, deciding to change the conversation. “Is my new armor ready?”

“The sword is too.” I say proudly, my hand already against the pile of armor. I pick it up, dropping it into his open arms with a proud smirk. “Go change, Ranger.”

“As my lady commands.” He grins at my confidence. “Think I’ll like it?”

“I think you will. I have a good idea as to what you’d want, anyway.” He heads back into the woods, preferring to change there instead of the inn like a normal God damn person. I’m left alone...or so I thought. Apparently people just love bothering me at my forge. 

“Come out. Sheesh. Can’t someone just walk up the stairs outright?” I look to the small wooden steps. The person just approached and paused at the wall before the steps, waiting.

“Sorry. Was going to wait so it didn’t seem awkward.” A female voice calls, stepping out into the light. She had the vigilants cowl and robe on top of her steel armor, and it would seem that she was more of a hands-on type fighter; a silver greatsword glittered from her back dangerously. She looked much more like a fighter than a devoted healer. Muscle built up her frame, and her Bosmer complexion was scarred with a slice that intersected her lip. Not to mention the rest on her arms I could see. 

“Ah, it’s fine. And you are…?”

“Halfi.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Rowan.” I nod politely. “What can I do for you…?”

“I was hoping you could sharpen my blade for me. I’d do it myself, but I want a blacksmith’s edge for a difficult fight.” Ah. She seems a lot friendlier than that other guy. I bet I could ask her about what’s going on.

“I see. I’d be happy to! Where are you headed?” I look to the sword. It’s larger than a standard greatsword, and judging by how she looks, she can use every inch of the thing to her advantage.

“South. A job calls.” She takes out her sword, running a hand along the blade. “This thing needs the hands of an expert, and unfortunately I’m only good in handling the other end.”

“You know… I’m not the usual blacksmith, I’m just a wandering-”

“I saw you here earlier, with the girl. And I also saw you make that blade for your companion.” She grins, a cheeky smirk playing with her lips as her eyes squint in admiration. “ _ Plus,  _ I saw that fight a few days ago. You look intimidating already, but you surpassed what I expected by a country mile.”

“Ha, I hate those types. I didn’t want to fight your companion and got ridiculed for it, so I figured I’d give them the fight they wanted.”

“Such are the inhabitants here. If you don’t fight, you’re just the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

“It’s petty.” I say, bringing out my small whetstone from my bag. “Here, give me the sword.” She hands it to me without a second thought; either she’s too trusting, or she figures I’m not a threat. I guess there’s a certain camaraderie between us already just due to who we are. She’s leaning against my workbench as she looks to me, but it isn’t an uncomfortable presence. We’re no threat to each other, and we’re alike; it just feels natural that she’s close. 

I begin to grind at the sword, examining the wear the blade has already gotten. Chinks in the blade make me click my tongue as I grind them out, slowly sloping the metal to perfection with each pass on the grindstone. 

“Are you from Valenwood…?”

“Yes, but that was long ago. Are you from High Rock?”

“Yep. Likewise, it was when I was small.” We pause, but the air isn’t awkward at all. We just simply both go about our business. She eats a creme tart as I do my work, and the chat is light without any sort of sinister undertones. 

“Where are you going to use this?” I switch sides. “The old man wouldn’t tell me, but I was only curious. And I may lend my blade if need be.”

“I don’t think you’ll be needed, but I appreciate the offer. That man failed and is bitter since he wants to go back in, but Bartrun isn’t the best vigilant to begin with. Our mission isn’t a secret or anything. Though I wouldn’t worry; they’re to be cleaned out by the next week or so. There’s four of our best vigilants on it, so it’s only a matter of time. I was just the first to arrive.”

“I see. That makes me feel better. My partner has been complaining like a bored child on a carriage ride.”

“I used to have a partner like that.” She reminisces, staring at the sloped ceiling in thought. 

“What happened to ‘im?”

“He got annoying and was slowing me down, so I just got rid of him.” She pauses, realizing what she’s said. “I meant he got a new partner and I worked alone-I didn’t…” 

“Ha! I got scared for a moment!” I chuckle as I finish grinding the other side. I take the sword off the grindstone, cradling it in my lap as I douse my whetstone in water, beginning to finish the blade by hand. 

“You’re not using the grindstone?”

“Nah. I can get a better edge by hand.” I reply, slowly dragging the stone across the silver gilded steel. 

“Are you a blacksmith by trade, adventurer by choice?”

“Silversmith by trade, adventurer by necessity.”

“I see. What was it?”

“An angry mob behind me.”

“Oh really?” She chuckles, hopping on top of the workbench and swinging her legs. 

“For me it was liking sweets. Meat Mandate and all. Not even wheat and sugarbeets can get a pass.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah. It was just imported sweets...ah well. That’s alright. I didn’t have much of a life there anyway because I preferred a sword over a bow.” She leans back against the back railing, looking out into the forest. “That partner of yours is taking a while.”

“Actually I was just waiting for you to leave, no offence.” He calls from somewhere around us. Halfi’s gaze snaps to me with a raised eyebrow, confused by how I shake my head and shrug. 

“He does this. He’s antisocial, but a good blade to have watching your back.” I explain, continuing with my work. “Come on Ranger, don’t be a wimp.”

“Not being a wimp.” He says, jumping over the railing and into the forge. He looks good in his armor; the cuirass and pauldron fit him perfectly, with the hunter green hood buckling in his front to allow room for the pauldron’s belt. His belt keeps the faulds around his waist, forming the armor to his body more easily than traditional armor. The pouches also hang free at his belt, and the sword tucked into it is out of the way of his bow, which has a crevice for the string like on my armor. His riding boots and pants, while not armored, provide light and easy movement for when he’s trying to put distance between someone, and the armored gauntlets with arm guards are for when he decides to get a bit closer. The red sash under his belt to add a bit of color wasn’t a bad idea either; the adornment on the faulds draws the eye away from his vitals, possibly distracting an archer for a split second. “I approve of the sword.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“Good, but I’ve never had a hood before.” He swipes it down, shrugging his shoulders so the leather sits more comfortably. “I’ll get used to it, I suppose.” He draws the sword, rolling it in his hand idly to test the weight. “And this is a lot heavier than a dagger, but it seems quick enough to work.”

“And now you have a reach greater than nine inches.”

“Not the only thing I have that’s nine-” I throw the excess leather at my foot at him, whapping him straight in the face. 

“See what I deal with?” I turn towards Halfi, stifling her laughter with a hand, and roll my eyes. “This Ranger…”

“It does look good.” She draws her feet onto the bench, sitting cross-legged. “Must be nice having a personal blacksmith.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” He protests. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Halfi, he wanted to use this tattered leather.” I tug up Bishop’s old armor, looking from it to her. “It hurt my heart just looking at it.”

“Gods, man. The thing’s in ruins.” She stares at the rips and patches. “You can see tooth marks!”

“It’s almost like I used it for what it’s for!”

“But at some point you need to admit that it’s toast.” I sweep the whetstone along a final time, holding the blade up and looking along the edge. No nicks, no scratches… I’d say I’ve done a fine job. “Your blade, Vigilant.” I stand, taking it in both hands and gingerly handing it to her. She tests the blade in several parts, accidentally slicing her finger while doing so. The red line doesn’t annoy her in the slightest; instead, she grins and smudges the blood away with a thumb.

“I think this is the best it’s ever looked since I got it.” She decides. “Thank you! What’s your rate?”

“Free.” I wave the gold pouch away. “I don’t take coin from those protecting others.”

“Then I give you my thanks instead.” She decides, hovering for a moment before reaching into the depths of her pockets. “At least let me give you this.” She hauls out a smaller, flask-sized bottle of Colovian brandy. “You have an odd taste in alcohol...but so do I.”

“Wow!” I take it from her, beaming at the amber liquid. “Gift accepted! You saw at the inn?”

“I was in the opposite corner, aye.” She shrugs, grinning. “Only two people drinking something proper.”

“Yeah! The nords here are lightweights!”

“We are not! We just don’t like our  _ throat burning  _ while drinkin!” Bishop huffs, leaning against a pillar. He seems to notice the vigilant dress in this moment, and stares at Halfi for a few seconds before his gaze narrows. “Are the vigilants actually doing something, or are they sitting on their asses like always?”

“Oh man, the hostility.” She says sarcastically. “Listen,  _ friend _ , we’re doing all we can. Not like the local populace is making it easier.”

“Bloodlet throne is in the mountains, right?” I start packing away my materials. “It’s going to be difficult.”

“It’s why it’s been taking so long. We sent the one pair and they got destroyed. We supplemented with some newbies, and they barely came out with their lives; and the information they brought back was spotty at best. We think there’s a lot in there, but we don’t know who they are and how many. We have the lesser vigilants patrolling Falkreath and the roads while we prepare, but it may take some time.”

“Who are the four?” I ask. I wonder who it is? Probably Buffy, Alucard, Wesley, and her. At least I hope. That’d make for one hell of a battle I wish I could see.

“Just me and three others. You probably wouldn’t know them; we keep to ourselves. Just misfits the vigilants picked up.” She shrugs. “Why are you all down here anyway? You certainly aren’t as secretive as the general populace.”

“Business.” Bishop snaps gruffly, not willing to divulge anything to her.

“Looking into some bounties.” I go ahead and answer truthfully. Bishop’s eyes widen as he snaps his head in rage. Don’t talk about your real business...blah blah blah. I suppose you could stick this under my ‘I’m too trusting’ flaw, but really; I have a good feeling about her. 

“To take, or…?”

“Got a few on myself I need to deal with the people willing to pay out.” I swing my pack up onto the seat of the grindstone, standing myself and giving a short stretch. “Know anything that would help?”

“No, but there are a few shady places near Helgen. Or what’s left of it.” She looks off into the distance, thinking. “Though if you’re being hunted outside of Falkreath, it’d have to be some pretty high people…or it could be a lot of smaller ones.”

“What do you mean?”

“This happened to me once, actually. If you get one rich guy after you, he’ll hire his underlings and give them the gold to place their own bounties. So it removes the evidence of the head honcho, and if you get enough, even the guards go after you.”

“Huh. Though I think I know who a couple of them are, but I feel like I have some smaller ones, too. I need to get them cleared somehow.”

“Why don’t you just rough up the owner and force him to close your bounties? There’s only a few places you can get the black papers, and it isn’t like they share clients...” 

Bishop looks at her weirdly for that one.

“Actually, that’s a really good idea…” I squint at her. “Aren’t you supposed to promote fairness and peace or whatever?”

“I don’t really care. The gung-ho ones do, but I really don’t give a flying horker if you go beat up some sleazy bastard.” She brings out a knife, whittling a stick she had in her pocket. “Got any information that could help me?”

“Well, the master vampire could be connected to Falkreath somehow.” I pause, thinking. “Didn’t Bloodlet Throne used to be some castle belonging to the Jarl? From when Skyrim had high tensions with Cyrodiil? I’d ask the Jarl about what’s going on there.”

“We tried. He won’t say anything, and his ego is too big to break down to reason.”

“Well that’s to be expected. But what about the prior Jarl? He’s still around. Dengeir, or whatever his name is. See what you can get out of him; he hates his nephew just as much as we do.”

“Haven’t tried him. Will do.” She looks to the sky, watching the sun dip below the horizon. “Alright, I’ll go do that now. Thank you, Rowan.”

“No problem. Tell me how it goes; we’ll be around for some time. Or send a courier. They find me pretty easily.”

“That’s one thing about Skyrim. Those couriers pop up everywhere.”

“One once followed me into a dwarven ruin. Honestly, I think they’re more reckless than me.”

“Indeed. Farewell!” She calls, walking down the steps and waving back to me. “I wish you luck with your bounties!”

“And good luck with the vampires!” I call back, watching Bishop get up from his position at the wall and skulk over, getting closer to me than I’d like.

“Rowan what the hell!?” He snarls. “You told her!? Fucking-”

“And we got information out of it that I hadn’t thought of. I told her information she hadn’t thought of. Both of us walked away smarter, and we don’t owe each other a thing.” I don’t back down even as he’s inches from my face. “Bishop, you can trust some people.”

“You just met her!”

“Aye.”

“Like twenty minutes ago!”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “But she’s basically a Bosmer version of me.”

“Sans Dragonborn.” He says bitterly. “You gave me that speech about how I’m supposed to regulate the humans and leave the combat to you, but you seem to not recognize you have to at least  _ try  _ to not be as trusting.”

“Hey, the author wouldn’t put two betrayals this close together. I knew I was safe.”

“What?”

“Did the information she gave check out?” I ask. He chews on his lip, looking past me as he decides his answer.

“...Yes. But it was still a gamble, Rowan.” He calms himself down, breathing out a slight sigh. “Rowan, Listen to me… I nearly lost you to that Chieftain, I don’t want you dissapearing where I can’t find you….”

“I won’t Bishop. It’s okay.” I peck him on the cheek lightly, letting him wrap his arms around my shoulders so he feels a bit better. 

“Sorry. I guess she was helpful.”

“Don’t apologize, Ranger. You’re right more than you know.” I smile, brushing his hair as we part. “Now then...what time do you think it is?”

“Mayhap six or seven.”

“That’s fine.” I shrug. “It’s nearly dark. Shall we head out now? Helgen’s only an hour’s ride.”

“I suppose so. We’ll mix in with the crowd heading in.” He rolls his shoulders. “And to make up for what just happened, you need to promise me to stick close, and actually do it. Yeah?”

I hesitate, crossing my arms.

“I’m asking nicely!” He says, imitating how he was back in the Silverblood inn. I giggle despite trying to restrain myself, shaking my head and containing my snort. 

“Fine!”

...

“I’m assuming it’s the place with all the lights?” We look down from the ridge at a medium-sized house, abandoned-looking and brimming with people. Candlelight flickers from a few windows, but overall no one is around the perimeter. There’s a serious looking orc woman guarding the outside, and other than that, it’s not guarded.

“No, it’s the tree to the left.” Bishop hops off of Gradient, letting me do the same. “Stay with the other idiot.” He tells Gradient, sending them both into the wild. We don’t want to get too close to a den full of horse thieves...on horses. For obvious reasons.

Though while I was at the forge I made tags for the horses, so if anyone messed with them I’d be surprised. I shaped a collar with a large dragon-skin tag denoting they’re property of the Dragonborn, and anyone who tries to grip the reigns will get shouted off the Throat of the World. 

I really hope Nazeem tries and takes one of them.

I know he isn’t in Falkreath, but Gods...if you’re watching…

“Should we go in separate? If you’re seen with me…”

“No; together. They don’t know your face too well, and if you’re with someone else you’ll be less suspicious. And we’re here a bit late. Usually there’s people around the outside.”

Eh, whatever. We walk down the hill aided by my candlelight, approaching the door. The woman takes one look at us and her hand flickers away from her warhammer, instead opening the door for us. I nod as we pass, but her eyes are locked on Bishop; with his hood up, he does look like…

Her hand darts out in a skull crushing punch, and Bishop barely blocks it with an arm guard. He stays strong under the brunt of her blow, snapping his head to bare his teeth only to find her laughing at him. Once the hood falls from the movement she cracks a smile, changing her demeanor. She jerks her head towards the house, letting us both pass.

“Wow.” I comment, sticking close to him. “She called you out on the hood.”

“New guard. Used to be a guy nord.” He comments. “And apparently there’s a dress code. That’ll make this harder.” 

“Nah. We can always punch our way out.” I crack my knuckles as we’re admitted in, and Bishop leads me through a group of sorry-looking nords to the stairs to the basement. He nods to another guard at the midway landing on the stairs as we’re hit with an air wave that reeks of skooma despite not even having line of sight. 

“Strong.” I comment, shooting a look at someone who comes a bit close to me. The basement is a huge room expanded from the original house’s finished basement, with gambling tables littering the open floor and bars along the side, selling dubious-looking bottles. My kind of place.

I pull a vial from my belt, chugging it down and dropping the empty bottle into a side pouch.

There’s a large wooden board in the very back, across from the steps. Parchment litters its surface, stuck to it by knives and the occasional tomahawk. I’d expect those to be the high-value targets. 

“You ask around. I’ll check the bars.” 

“This isn’t the time for your alcoholism, Rowan…!”

“I’m serious. Stay away from the bars. I’ll pan for some information on where the boss is.” I can’t risk him seeming suspicious…

“So we’re going straight to the big guy? Fine. I’ll gamble some and fish a bit.”

“Alright. Go team.” I take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently before I part us, wandering over to one of the bars. I plant myself on a stool at the bar tended to by a khajit, with a burly redguard occupying the stool next to me. 

“Colovian Brandy.” I call, placing some gold on the counter and twisting so I face the crowd.

“Why not try the in-house choice?” The khajit asks. I see an Argonian and a Breton along the wall stare at me once he voices that question, looking to see how I’ll answer. Can’t fuck this up. I smile warmly, patting my gold pouch and giving a sly wink. 

“That’s for later. I just got a bit of coin from a few runs. Starting off slow, you know?”

“Ah, good choice. Though you’ve joined a bit late for the slow race…”

“I got time.” I say, leaning back. “Besides, I don’t go easy on drinks. Colovian.” He stoops under the bar for a few moments before bringing back an uncorked bottle of colovian, giving me the rest of the bottle in my tankard. 

“You’re lucky you’re the final draught; you get extra free.” The khajit says, pushing it in front of me. 

“How fortunate for me. Though I hope you have more bottles; I may drink you out of business.” The redguard next to me grunts, not convinced. “What? Think I’m kidding?”

“You just look like a gal who’s been through a bad breakup and wants to prove something to daddy.” He says gruffly. “You some noble’un?”

“If I was, I’d be drinking something much better than Colovian.” I snort. “Don’t think I can hold my own?”

“Need me to say it again? Ya’ look like someone who shouldn’t be here, so I’m saying this as gently as I can...get out.”

“I was just giving you a chance to recant, friend.” I smirk, looking to the khajit. 

“I ain’t gonna do it. Women can’t stand this stuff. Back off. Go back up the stairs and get to something more your speed. Try Whiterun’s inn...or Solitude.”

“What did I ever do to you? Cool it man.”

“He’s just-” The khajit tries to intercede. 

“Bad breakup?”

“No! It was fuckin’ fine!” He snarls, turning on me as if trying to intimidate. I don’t buy it, instead just sticking with downing my brandy idly. So he’s bitter about a lady; that explains the random sexism. But hey, let’s see if we can’t play this to our advantage. 

“How about we let our friend be an arbiter here? Drinking contest; straight mead. First one to go down loses and needs to pay for the drinks.” I already feel the tingly numbness from the brandy, but hey. Alcoholism is a skill in my hands. 

“Fine.” He decides. “But I’ll say this now; you don’t belong here, girl.”

“Maybe not, but I was never one for fitting in.” I shrug, accepting the tankard passed to me. He gets one in his hand as well, and the bartender slaps the oak plank of the bar to signal its start.

The first goes down easy enough; I finish before him.

The second is fine, stomach is getting a bit full but he’s worse off than me.

Third is okay. “That one seemed sweeter than the rest. What was that?”

“Honeyglider.” The bartender answers me cordially, still surprised at how coherent I am.

“I’m gon’ beat ya.” The redguard slurs.

“Huh, I may want to buy some of those later on. Next round.” I beckon, greedily grabbing the tankard. “Yeah, keep those coming. They’re better than the standard honeysides.” 

“Will do.” The khajit says with a feline smile. Odd…

“Are you doing okay, my red-clad friend?” 

“Fine!” He snaps. “Just focus on keeping yours down, newcomer.” I look over to the redguard, downing the rest of his fourth tankard. The khajit pours us another, and another, and another…

I think I’m in alcohol heaven. This basically becomes a free mead tasting as he switches to different types, and I’m dragging this pour redguard through it. Hell, if he stays awake for these drinks, I’m technically not paying for these...so...I need him to stay awake as long as possible so he can foot the bill. 

I’m a bad influence.

“Come on man, it’s your tenth. Come on!” I slap his back, urging him on to down the tankard. He does, nearly gagging, his neck swaying as the room is becoming more tilted to him. But he needs to keep going...there’s a gilded row of bottles on the top shelf we’re about to get to…!

“He is...gonna kill ‘me…” He croaks.

“Who?”

“My…boss...” Oh right. I was fishing for information, wasn’t I? This seems like a good person to dig into. He’s one of the guards in disguise, at any rate. The samples of skooma hanging around his belt attest to that profession. 

“Boss must suck if he doesn’t want you drunk on the job. It’s part of life.”

“Aye...but I gotta work…”

“Who’s going to kill you again?”

“Gwalt’ gonna kill me…” Alright, there’s a name. 

“What work needs to be done at this time of night?” I pause, taking a long drink from my tankard. “It’s drinking time. You don’t work during drinking time.”

“Jus’ some transport...thas’ all. It’s easy work, I dun’t even  _ need  _ to be sober, but her I is!”

“That’s awful. What are you moving? Is it fragile? If it’s just some stuff...hell, you could kick it around.”

“Nuh, just tedious. The stuff’s easy… Boss doesn’t care if we rough ‘un up in transportin’. Parrently’ there’s two of un’ tunnight.”

That sentence tells me more than I wanted to. Transporting people, huh? Only solace I have is in that they can’t be exporting a certain gender. They’d have to be taking capture bounties or slaver bounties. Of course it still doesn’t settle with me… I can come up with a plan. I hope. Those two people are probably near the boss, at any rate. My goal is still the same.

“What, business boomin?”

“Nah, been dry for a while’n boss is gettin’ a bit desperate. These be spensive’, though.” He gasps, downing another. “You still ain’t gonna beat me, ya scaly bastard!” The argonian behind us snaps towards him, about to slap him with a clawed hand as I stop and show my armor with a slight nod. ‘Scaly Bastard’ Is definitely not something I expected to be called tonight. I saved this guy from getting an eye gouged out; he better give me some more info.

“Desperate? This place? It’s gotta be rollin’ in coin.” I look out into the crowd, watching Bishop roll some dice amongst a group of nords. And...he lost. Good going, Ranger.

“You’dn be surprissed…” He gargles out. “Sometim’ it just gets’n slow, and we gotta take em’ to some a’ the worse places...I dun’ like them.” Again, I don’t want to know. I doubt I could take it.

“You don’t look so good...Where’s the boss? Want me to tell him you’re ill?”

“Nah...he’in the room...an’ when he in’ the room, no one goes in’. Not e’en’ the right.” 

So the second in command can’t even go into this so called room. I don’t like trapping myself, but I may need to confront it in order to get to the boss. “I can’tu drink anymore…” He sighs into his tankard. 

“Didn’t you want to win?” I call to the redguard, motioning to the bottles. The khajit pauses, looks to the bottles, and grabs one down; hesitant to pour us some. He shakes his head and places the bottle back up, pouring us some of the last stuff instead.

That would be something a bit more special for my blood, then.

I down the last tankard with a satisfied sigh, watching as the redguard spills off of his stool and onto the ground with a thump. The khajit gives an exasperated sigh before looking to me, and I stoop down to grab his coin purse. 

“Hey, he agreed to the rules.” I insist, letting the khajit count out all the gold he owes.

“You drank him out of his paycheck for the past four months.”

“Good. Serves him right.” I prop my head up on my fist. 

“He doesn’t have enough.” The khajit huffs, handing me the velvet purse back. I drop it on the redguard, yanking off his necklace and a few rings. 

“These’ll do.” I slap them on the table, looking to the golden bottles. “So what’s in those?”

“In-house wine we only serve to certain people. It’s quite potent.” He looks to me, eyeing me over. I suppose his perspective has changed considering the recent contest, and he tweaks one of his whiskers in contemplation. The breton and argonian that were watching before shift behind me, sitting at the bar on either side of me, finally settling down.

“Gods, we thought he’d never get off the stool. Hey Dar’karim.” The argonian greets our bartender.

“Next time just kick him off. I don’t enjoy sad patrons.”

“Hey.” I greet. The breton nods to the khajit, and he brings out some simple bottles of wine for the two.

“...I suppose I can give you a bit. It isn’t cheap for a drink, but considering you just made that guy buy all your booze, I’d say you can spare.”

“Sure.” I pull out my pouch. “How is it?”

“Fifty.” I whistle at the amount, slapping down the gold. “Wow. Interesting.”

“It’s been aged perfectly.” He comments, bringing down the gilded bottle and pouring me a glass in one of the crystals in the back. No tin tankard for this stuff. 

He hands the glass to me for inspection and swipes my gold. I look it over; blue and purple mix in the liquid, with an oil-like shimmer floating on the top. I stare at it for a long while, and the khajit awkwardly shifts, hoping I don’t reject it so he doesn’t need to put it back. Eventually I just take a sip, seeing how it tastes.

“Potent...but delicious.” I comment, choosing to sip this one instead. 

“Indeed. Though even with your temperance, I feel you may be affected by this one…” 

“Eh, we’ll see.” I turn and face the crowd, watching as Bishop plants himself at a bar. He had gambled away enough money and decided to slow down a bit for a drink. Dumbass.

And somehow the nord serving him brings down the gilded bottle first, pouring him a glass and handing it to him. No fair! I earned this, you bastard! I also told you no drinking! That isn’t good…

He says something scathing to the bartender, obvious by how his face sneers as he speaks to him. I suppose the bartender called him a lightweight too and he wanted to rise to the challenge. And I’m forced to witness as he drinks it down as fast as he can, barely keeping the alcohol down. The person next to him grasps his shoulder, shaking it vigorously as he cackles at Bishop’s predicament. Meanwhile, I swirl it in my goblet, slowly sipping from it while watching his struggle.

“Know that guy?” The breton asks, following my line of sight. 

“No. But he seems quite angry.” I comment. 

“Perhaps he lost at gambling.” The argonian suggests. “He was hanging around the same group for a while...perhaps he was trying to reverse his luck and couldn’t.”

“Mayhap.” I watch two men come and drag off the redguard who passed out. “Mayhap not.”

“Nah, I’d bet on it.” The breton jokes, and I laugh with him, faking it so my voice is a bit daintier. 

“So what brings you here?” The argonian turns around to sit as I do, striking up idle chat as if we were in a lounge in Solitude. 

“That board in the back.” I say, tilting my head to it. “Been getting ‘em second hand. Finally got the chance to swing by on my own.”

“Are you an assassin?” The breton asks, looking to my armor. “That’s some impressive leatherwork...seems expensive.”

“Ah, this old stuff? Nah. It’s just meant to look intimidating.” I shrug, running my hand along the scale. “Its shaved chitin with some pressed shark skin. The things that look like teeth are just whittled down horker tusks.”

“What’s the point of that, then?” The argonian questions, reaching out and running a hand along my shoulder, touching one of the dragon’s teeth. 

“You got some charcoal on me!” I look to my shoulder at the smudge.

“I didn’t even notice! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He says, trying to erase it but it just smudges more. “I was marking something earlier and must have gotten it on my hands.”

“That’s fine, I’ll wash it with water later.”

“If you’re sure.” He says, relieved.

“So what’s the point?” The breton asks. “If it ain’t gonna protect ya?”

“You’d be amazed the places you can get by looking official and smooth talking.” I grin, playing along with the ploy. The irony of me saying that is immense… “I’ve gotten into the palace before. Don’t believe me? They only serve spiced wine made in Solitude. You can check that fact.”

“I still don’t believe you.” The breton grunts. 

“No, she’s right. My cousin is one of the permanent residents in the inn.” The argonian chuckles. “So you’re here for the board, eh? What kind of jobs do you take?”

“Assassination, transport...whatever it is that has a high payout.” I sip more of the wine. “After all, I do have to pay for all my booze.” The breton looks to the piled up tankards I used during the drinking contest.

“I...see.” He says. 

“They have some pretty good jobs in the back you might be interested in.” 

“Yeah?” I ask, finally getting to where I want to be. They’ll divulge a bit more, entice me with something, and then lead me back to whatever the hell they want. 

Now then… I suppose I should start acting drunk or sleepy. It’d spur this along. After all, I do think the bartender tried to poison me, and these guys are just chatting until I fall under. 

“They got the best ones in the back for the ones we think could handle ‘em. And I think you’re worthy. We need good people to take em’, see, so the clients give us a good reputation.”

“Got it.” I yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. I droop to the side, settling down with a fake sigh and letting my eyes droop for a moment. 

“Booze finally getting to you?” The argonian asks as the breton gets up, walking off. 

“Aye, I don’t show it, so I’m good at contests... I think I’ll go...hmmm…”

“There’s a private lounge you can go to. I can take you there. We use it for weary patrons.” He offers politely. “You can get out of the noise and look over some of the parchments.”

“‘Kay.” I look around towards the bar Bishop was at, seeing him no longer there. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Where the hell did he go?

Oh no…

“So this boss…? Who’un…?”

“He’s fair enough. You’ll like him, seeing as you’re both liars and the sort.” The argonian grins at my empty glass. “Lying your way into the palace...wow. You’ll have to tell him about that one.” His forked tongue pokes out slightly, making a slight hiss as he leads me to a side door, admitting me inside. He stays out, letting me go ahead into the pitch black.

“There’s candles...it’s just dimmer than the floor.” He promises as I walk in. He shuts the door behind me, and I hear it latch shut from the outside. Shite.

“Well hello, doll.” A voice says. Indeed, there were candles; well, one to be exact. Next to a nord in full ebony armor, reclining in a nearby chair. “How are you?” A small table sits in front of his chair, and wardrobes line the walls. 

“Very swell’, thank ye’.” I say, looking around. “Ya ain’t got a chair for me!”

“Quit bullshitting me. You aren’t drunk. Though you did pick an interesting way to get here. You drank fourteen bottles!” He smirks, studying me over. “I assume you needed to talk to me, and thought this was the only way?”

“Actually I just wanted free mead and this is how it happened.” I shrug. “What happened to my partner?”

“He’s being cared for.” He says ominously. “Or maybe not, if you don’t play your cards right. So what do you want from me?”

“I’m a busy woman who really can’t afford to waste time on shitty bandits who barely have anything of value.” I shrug. “I want you to quit posting bounties on Rowan the Dragonborn. Now, if you please.”

_ Pioth. _ I call, searching the darkness for him again. I have an idea! And while I should stop poking the daedra, I also fear what he’s scheming in the dark. Better to air him out and drain him a bit by forcing him to help on occasion. I still need to figure out a way to dig him out without alarming Bishop, and meeting the vigilants have given me a few ideas.

_ Y̛̦̻e̫̯̱̳͕̦͠s̠̟ c͔͇̟͚h͏͍̦̠̘͍̻͙i҉͖͉͇̜͕ld̺̯̦̺̻̙̯?̘̬̺͇ͅ ̷̗̫͙ _

_ Want to help me scare this guy? _

_ A̸̫̣n̠̳̻̰̖̭̥d̵̖͙͕ ̧̦͔̗w̴̟͍̳h̛͔͍͖̱̬̞ͅa̶͚̣̯͕͓t͕̯̤̹̮ ̰͚̜̖ḍ̜̦̩̩o̵̰ ̙̭͎͈͎̟͜I̸̦̻͚̝ ̺̬ͅg̙̻e͘t̫͈͍͕ͅ ̙̹͝i̖͖̙̼̞̬͍n̰̮̩̼̟͍̥ r҉̖̘̗̗͓̫ͅe̬͈̣͉̙̤̱t̹̖͙̟̺̥̘ur̪͇̪n̗̰̮̟̻̮?̱̯̮̻ _

 

_...You get to scare this guy. Stretching your legs and all. _

_ S҉̭̖o͖̘̱̲͓ ̭̖̣͇̰̥̟y̛̖̖͔o̮͝u̶͚̰͙'̶̻̤͖͎̬r̺͙̼̩̕ę ͔̳͉ͅg̵̭̤o̹̺i̟͕̮̤͙̦͎n̡̪͖g͏̳̞̙̺ ̨t̷̥̹̫̦̬ͅọ ͇̠̜̪͉̫̻w̯̮̯͕i͏̦͈l̸̞l͏͔͎i͏n͇̰̤̹͈̝̟gl̶y҉̩̠̠̣̤͚ ̟̞̮̟͈g̵̮͉̤͍̣̱̟i̥͉̘̖v̢͓̼̙ȩ͖͚̠̯̝̻ ͙͜u̬̯͔̭̤p̥͖̱̼̬ ̲͚c̣͓̱̻͈̰o̞̞̭̻̗̳̼ṉ̖t̟͈̝r͇̹̫̬̳ơl͎͈̗̗̙͇ ̦͍͈̱͖̝̝̕sọ̹͙̭͇̞͘ ̸̠̜͔̰̘̹I̷̺̪̝ ̡̹̤̥͇̝̻̲c̫͔̣̗͟á̩̠̭ͅn̮̞͕̣̱ ̱͔'̧̪̘̱s̥̗͘t͓̞̥̗̩͖r̜͉̙̝̞̝̲e̼̠͉t̼c͡h̵̦͕͎̥ ̪̟̫͍̲̣̩m̱̮y̖̻͕̞̙ ̡̲̮͉̗̦l͏̘͔͓͓͈̼e͈͙͞g̝̻͔͡s̛͓̮̗ͅ'̪ͅ?̰͈̰̙̱ͅ _

 

_ Well fine, if you don’t want to. _

_ Ṉ̀o̲͟,̀ ͔I̫̼̪̟ ̘͙̰̖͎d̝̩̞̤̼̪́o͖.͚̮͕̟ ̴̯̠̙͈̖G̤̟̪̟iv̜e̤ ̝́m̨̘͉̠̖ͅe̗̭ ̨a̝͓̣ ͎͈̦m̺̲̹̭̖̟̹o̗͉̹̲͜m̝ę̩͍͙̠̰n̦̠͖̠͈t.͔̲̞̰̘̮ _

 

_ Alright. I got a plan, too. Just follow my lead and help me piece everything together. _

_ F̱̗̺̺̪͉į̲̩n̬̮͍͜ẹ͍͎̬̘.̠͚̹͚̞͕͞ _

 

_ Aw, you’re so grouchy now that you can’t take control...  _

_ D͖̣̫̝̼͈o̷̦͉̥ṇ̫̯͘'͕̠͈͝ṭ̜̟̲͉ ̹͓̗t̴͉̘̖̪e̯̜͈s̴̲̬̳͎t̝͇ ̲m̧e̳̺̺̰̻̙͘,̡̙̦̬̣ B̳̼̰͖̩ṟ̷̹̠̠ͅe̠t͍̜̫ò͓͓̪̭͈n̳̕.̹̞ _

 

“Sure, I can do that. But I’m thinking I’d rather have something in return, first.” He fans himself with a few documents I can see as my many bounties. 

“Also, who’s posting them?” I ask, cracking my knuckles. “Thonar, the Aldmeri…” 

“Oh, that’s about it for the big ones. But there’s so much coin to be had from those two, it’d nearly be a shame if I were to stop taking it…” I step backwards, jiggling the door handle. I’m barred in.

“No escape, love.” He grins. “Though my associates will be happy to care for you…”

“What’s your name again? Gwalt?” I step forward, the handle to a battleaxe flickering to life in my hands. Pioth gets the hint, attributing some of his power towards keeping the miasma in place. I drag the handle across the ground as the blade forms, glaring at him through hooded eyes. “Well Gwalt… I don’t think you know who I am.” I heave the battleaxe onto my shoulder, the blade an inky purplish-black, and three times as large. The axehead is now an executioner’s tool, five hand lengths long and with a flickering edge that promises to cleave through whatever I toss it at. For example, this small table in front of us. 

I swing the axe down like I’m cutting wood, crunching the table in half and biting deep into the floorboards. I pull it up to my shoulder again, letting Pioth take some creative liberties as he twists my expression into one of a sociopath. 

“I don’t think you’ve actually been acquainted with me. The name’s Rowan the Dragonborn. If you don’t want to quit producing the bounties...well… axe or shout? I’ll let you choose.” I pause in front of him, testing him to draw his ebony blade. I plant my boot in between his legs on the chair, about to tip him over. Or smash his crotch-that’d work too. 

“Fine! Fine!” He says, and I draw my leg away. 

“I’m not someone you can manipulate easy,  _ friend _ . Now where’s my companion?” 

“The room behind me… now calm down with that thing.”

“Oh I am calm. This is how I am normally.” I move to walk towards the door as I hear wood creaking. In the wardrobes…!

My breath catches as I hear the quiet music of blades, and I freeze in time as I make a decision. I want to stay my hand and show mercy, but Pioth’s bloodlust and my own anger overtake the sensible part of my head. 

I swing around with my axe, catching two of the three men in the midriff, blood splattering along the blade and impact zone of the walls, showering the room in a red mist. Pioth put a lot of strength behind that, somehow…

“Oh shite. Now I’m going to have to clean this armor…” I sigh, swiping some blood off my dragon’s crest. I force my fear down into me as I ignore how my hand was forced to swing, instead putting my focus into playing off the atrocity I just committed. “Nice try, Gwalt…”

“You fucking monster!” He spits from where he’s fallen on the ground. “What the-!”

“It’s almost like I’m a dragonborn or something.” I step forward, letting my axe disappear into a bow as Pioth fades. I banish him, terrified, still grasping to keep the facade going. I draw and arrow and let it fly, pinning Gwalt dead to the floor.

“You!” I point to the remaining henchmen, cowering near the remnants of the table and clutching at where I nicked him. “You! You’re in charge now. Congrats on the promotion. And I better not find any more bounties on me. Got it? And clean up the tavern. Keep everything legal from now on, or I’ll make a return trip. You guys have plenty of drinks anyway.” That sounded lame, but my heart is racing. I’m not as strong as I thought. Pioth isn’t so easily locked away.

The poor man nods furiously. I think he peed himself.

Now then… speaking of worrying, where’s my idiot?

I’d assume the back room. I walk over and find the door locked; Gwalt intended for me to be caught up on the door and get stabbed in the back. Ah well. His loss. A swift side kick next to the lock and I break the deadbolt, peering into the dark again with the candlelight.

He’s in there...and he’s currently chained against the wall. I’m getting flashbacks to Scott Pilgrim, and Bishop isn’t looking too good. I can’t tell which of us is worse off. They intended to collect on my bounties and sell my quick-tongued Ranger into slavery. I pick up the parchment, sneering at the location in Hammerfell along with a quota number. These pricks...

I bring out my lockpicks, undoing his lock and setting him in a reclining position. Stupid Ranger… I told you not to drink anything here…

I pull a resist poison potion from my bag, tilting his head back and pouring it down. He’s semi-conscious, but the poisoned wine has had a fun time with his system in the time he’s been allowed to sit. I look to his shoulder, and sure enough… charcoal marks a small line on his right shoulder. I told him not to drink anything. I only had the one potion that would last long enough. Dammit Ranger.

“Bishop.” I call, holding up his head so his eyes are partly in the light. He’s breathing and he seems to be alright, but movement may be a bit slow. “Bishop. Bishi. Bish-chacho.”

Still nothing.

“Your name kinda sounds like Bitch.”

“Don’t...call me that.” He growls, slowly raising his head. He squints in the light, surveying my blood-splattered armor and unkempt hair. 

“You’re still in the tavern. The guy who took us is dead, I put someone in charge, and we shouldn’t have anymore issues. It’s only been an hour since you were taken.”

“What...happened?”

“You got poisoned. Remember that part where I told you not to drink anything, and you said sure, and immediately went to a bar and said you’d drink the strongest stuff there?”

“I saw you drink it… I figured it’d be safe…”

“No, I took a potion while we were going down the stairs. These guys are slavers too. We got marked.”

“Why didn’t I get a potion!?”

“Only had one. You were supposed to gamble, I was supposed to drink. Separate jobs, Bishop.”

“Gods…my head.”

“I think that’s the alcohol.”

“You’re not fucking human, by the way…” He slowly gets to his knees. “I saw that contest…”

“Yeah I really need to do research on myself. It’s a gift.” I help him to his feet slowly, grabbing his weapons from the table nearby. “Alright damsel in distress, take it easy.”

“What!?”

“You heard me.”

“Was not-!”

“You were plan B to get me to come out. But I kinda just went myself, so...”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” I hurry him out of the room I completely obliterated, but I can see him lock eyes with the bodies. “Hold on, there’s gotta be a back entrance…” We’re met with a wood-panelled hallway that winds back inside. 

“To your left.” He instructs, and I bring us both that way.

“How’d you know?”

“When I was out they were coming in and out. It slipped into my dreams.”

“Oh weird. Did you hear it like a voice, or was it objects?”

“Ladyship, and I say this with the most love I can muster, fuck off for a bit. I feel awful...” I swing open the door for us, slowly ushering him out into the dark forest. It’s probably early morning. 

“Fine, I’ll leave my psycho analysis until later. How do you feel?”

“Sick. Really sick.” I gently put him to his knees, turning my head as he dry heaves into the ground.

I hope the stupid whistle reaches those two. I begin whistling, and of course they don’t come. 

“Bishop.” 

He pauses and stands, firmly planting his feet under him as he inhales a bit more, giving out a desperate shriek of a whistle. Of course the horses come flying to us then, bursting out of the foliage in less than a minute. 

“Good horse.” He says. 

“Alright, let me help you up. Is there a cave or overhang nearby?” 

“Small cave near Embershard mine.” He breathes, letting me help him into his stirrup.

“Are you okay to ride?”

“I’ll be fine. What kind of poison?”

“Paralyzation. A canis root oil was floating on top of the mead.” I push him into the saddle, glad when he grips the reins. “You should be getting better, but if we need to stop, let me know.”

“We need to get away from here. Not sure if that’s obvious.” He says sarcastically. “I’m fine, Rowan. Let’ go. I can lead.”

“If you’re sure.” 

…

“It’s...here…” Bishop breathes heavily. We slide off the horses and I take his arm, to his anger, to help settle him inside against the wall, tucking a blanket around him. He glares at me the whole time, but doesn’t have the energy to protest. I summon a candlelight to help illuminate the place, but it’s pitch black inside the cave. Our hasty escape of the inn was a poorly timed one. There’s no moon in the sky to remotely aid our vision, and here in the cave, even the stars have abandoned us. I get an eerie chill from this place, a cold wind coming from the internals of this water-dug tunnel. I can hear soft dripping onto cold stalagmites come from within.

“Here…” I throw down some scrap wood I had from making arrows, lighting the spindly fragments and looking around. It looked as if a wagon stayed here and was broken down inside for some reason. Scrapped planks strewn on the ground with ruined merchandise like moth-eaten cloth and broken bottles. “Wha…?”

“I guess this was occupied before…” Bishop looks to the broken box I discover, watching me pick up the planks and throw them on the fire. A smashed barrel sits next to it, so I bust off the iron retaining rings and roll that onto the fire too, glad the cinders dance heartily in the smoke. 

“Yeah… there’s more wreckage within. Think it’s a ruin?” 

“I don’t know. It might be some sort of hall.” Bishop shakes his head. “I usually never went this far south. We’re a short ways from the border.”

“I can tell by the chill. The mountains are particularly cold right now…” I warm my hands by the fire. “Should we stay here the night?”

“I guess we have to. I’m not in the mood to move.”

“Fine.” I toss our bedrolls onto the ground, sitting on mine and slowly brushing my hair after the ride. I pull it back into a proper braid as Bishop eats, staring into the flames with a tired expression as he does so. He acts much stronger than he is. He’ll complain about his situation on occasion, but there’s never any true lament in his voice as he does so. He doesn’t blame my plans or my abilities on his fate, and instead takes what he’s dealt and copes with it. That poison would have rendered someone with a normal tolerance immobile, but Bishop’s barely said a word on the matter and instead pressed forward. 

“Sleep, Bishop. The poison will be gone by morning.” I say as he finishes his waterskin, discarding it on his bag.

“Yeah...don’t mind if I do.” He grumbles. Bishop flops onto his bedroll and nearly immediately falls asleep on top of it, his cloak drawn around him as he falls into a quiet sleep. I sit there for a few minutes next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as his hand loosely covers mine in the grey zone of our bedrolls, his fingers half-intertwined with mine. 

What if it was Bishop instead of Vorstag? I trust him with so much more of me than my childhood friend… he could wreak absolute devastation on me with ease. Stab me through the heart, literally and metaphorically. I’d die from my heart being ripped in half before my blood ran out. I’ve entrusted my body and soul to him; he could tear them up if he chose. Money warped a friend I’ve known for ages...what’s stopping it from changing Bishop?

Though we’ve been through this before; we won’t betray each other. We can’t. We’re too invested in the other we can’t function on our own. We’ve become so specialized to our tasks it’d be a whole new world trying to deal without him. 

I watched him try to light a fire with his flint when he thought I was asleep. It took him more than fifteen minutes easily. Then again, I no longer can remember to boil water for our waterskins without him. It’s mutual digression.

I trust him with my life. I guess I should end it at that. He wouldn’t have any reason to kill me, ever; and I don’t intend to give him one. As long as that statement stays true, we’ll be alright.

...

A crash echoes throughout the cave an hour into my watch, hitting my ears and scaring me out of my wits. Bishop sleeps through the thing even as I bounce to my feet, searching for the source of the noise. Should I check it out? It was probably just a skeever...but there’s always that minute chance it’s a gigantic leech.

And by that I mean vampire, not a blobby thing. 

I summon a candlelight and head into the cave, stepping over more bits of broken wagon and ripped bags of flour. Though they look as if they’ve been here for some time; I doubt the noise was a human from the wreckage. I accidentally trip over a board and fall to the ground like a little girl, my armor rattling like a skeleton the whole way down. 

_ She’s beauty...she’s grace...she’ll easily flop onto her face... _

The rest of the cave past that point is barren earth and rock, with occasional shadows from the insets of the stone worrying my conscience like ghosts. The light from the candlelight doesn’t illuminate much in the absolute darkness, and I move slowly as I slowly pick my way over the uneven ground. Once I get the remnants of the ancient creek running through here I cross it carefully, wary of the algae-covered rocks that litter the passage of water. I can see a natural room ahead and press forward a bit further, reaching the entrance and looking in. This is fun! I always love spelunking in Skyrim’s caves. It’s less creepy and more eerie in a beautiful way, if that makes any sense. Like an appreciation that a force created something so intricate. I breathe in and sigh as I press on, liking the chilling air in my lungs; like a winter morning, it’s crisp, but with an earthy smell I actually find comforting.

…

**Casavir**

I slide my sword out of the body of a male vampire, kissing my amulet as I wipe the blood from my blade hastily. This haven set into the nord rock is my target, and Stendarr protect me as I fight my way through it. Five others have already fell by my hand, and I thank my patrons with every blow I skirt. These vampires are vicious and ugly creatures, running after me with the remnants of their last meal on their lips, losing their humanity and changing it for animal-like wildness.

The other vigilants are preparing for the assault on Bloodlet’s throne, and I decided to occupy my time clearing this out instead. A vampire from this coven already has slain a little girl and her brother down at the mill nearby, and I couldn’t help myself but be stopped by the parent’s plead. I can only hope the other three forgive my tardiness. 

These unclean beings disgust me. To take a perfectly beautiful mortal and warp it into a daedra-serving cadaver is the worst offence to both the person and the gods, so here I am. Their numbers have only risen since I’ve joined the Vigilants, and we’ve all been hard pressed to keep the citizens safe. I will pick up any slack if necessary. This body given to me is for protecting the innocent, and if that duty dictates I operate without sleep, food, or drink, I will gladly take the bodily punishment for doing so. Seeing the mother in mourning, clutching at her dead children, only sparked my deeper hatred. 

I look around the half-room I’m in, my armor almost scraping against the stone walls kept back by wooden supports. I wipe my face with my sleeve, looking around and trying to sense any other around. I haven’t heard any commotion yet, but I suspect there’s another fledgling somewhere amongst this maze of a space posing as a home. 

I exit the bedroom, pausing near the hearth as I feel the heat in my cold fingers. It’s about as cold here as in the north, but I’m so enraged I can barely feel the chill in my digits. My fingers ache from clenching my sword as I pull a potion to my lips, shedding any trace of the disease and healing my wounds in a few moments. A book sits on a table nearby, pulling my curiosity as I walk to it, clumsily sliding my gauntlet to touch its binding. As I do, the lantern resting next to it falls, and while the flame goes out in air, the tin crashes to the stone with a thundering clatter that echoed around me like a Breton cannon. 

My breath catches as I pause, waiting for any vampiric being to reveal itself. But they don’t. That suits me fine… I’ll find them instead. Gods preserve me, I fear being jumped in this horrible place. I trust my sword and skills, but not having someone to watch my back has been taxing on me as of late. Of course I nearly prefer it this way. Being alone like this forces me to hone my skills even more, and if it makes me a better protector, I’m willing to shove the uncertainty back into my core.

I set to walking again, approaching where the vampire settlement tapers back out into the cave. I hear a crash come from that direction, beckoning me back into motion as I draw my sword and break into a run, hearing the hasty footsteps accompany a small snarl approach me. I keep to the cave wall, sliding along it to keep out of the monster’s light, waiting for it to enter the rocky chamber I’m in. The light dissipates and I hear the woman swear as I lash out, catching her under her odd robes and knocking her backwards into total darkness. 

“Wha-!?” She rasps, hitting the ground as I stab downward. Her acute vampiric senses let her roll out of the path of my blade, batting it away and seeing my position from the sparks created. She nimbly rises to her feet, without any hesitation or brittleness from her frame… she must have just been turned. Poor soul… but I can’t help her. If she wanted assistance, she would have come to us long ago; but instead her mind is locked by this blasphemous society. 

“Surrender!” I clench my teeth, confused as my own voice hits my ears again. The cave walls echo and distort my words into a near low growl, surprising even myself; but perhaps it will serve to intimidate. 

“Who the hell!?” She dodges another blade barely, taking a slash to the arm instead of her vitals. I see her small figure dance to the side as she summons a blade, running it along the cave wall to generate more sparks as she takes in my position and lunges out at me unexpectedly, her swords much longer than any I’ve encountered here; I feel the blade bounce off the top of my armor. The boom that echoes from the collision stuns us both for the moment as we reorient, taking back and reapplying ourselves into the battle. 

Our swordplay is sporadic and unknown to the both of us as we play off the brief sparks. We clash swords, eyes straining to identify what movement we can see in the bits of light, and adjust to only repeat our process. I see her whitish face only in mere glimpses, and I’m much more focused with striking her down with my sword. I refuse to lose to a daedra’s puppet! She must have been a warrior before being turned into a thrall, because her fighting is precise and she locates nearly every one of my joint weak spots in my armor. In retribution I shred the flesh under her faulds and solidly connect under her shoulder, cracking what I find there and swiping her to the ground. She falls with a grunt and a list of swears I dare not repeat in my head. 

But once I feel even a hint of security she twists around my next strike, kicking my cuirass with her entire bodyweight and spinning from the force, threading her blade under the waist opening of my armor and cleaving into my stomach. I can’t contain my cry of pain as I stumble backwards and fall to the ground, the grip on my blade loosening for a moment before I regrip it and prepare to defend myself despite where I lay.

“Fuckin’ asshole! C’mon thrall, get up!” She declares, calling to me. I freeze immediately and lower my sword, staring at the figure instead of the weapon.

“What? I’m not a-” I say, eyes widening.

“Not a...vampire?” The woman asks into the dark.

The candlelight she summons sheds an intense light on us both suddenly, making us both squint and look to each other. Is that-

“My lady-Rowan-!” I stutter, looking to her battered, angry, unamused face. It immediately switches once she recognizes me from my angle on the ground, twisting into a bemused smirk as she hauls me to my feet. 

“Casavir! Fancy seeing you here!” She says, letting her sword fade. “I was wondering how a thrall was fighting me so equally!”

“A...thrall?” She mistook me for a vampire’s slave. How...degrading...but if she assumed...I guess it’d be the natural choice. After all, I thought the same.

“What vampire fights with a greatsword?”

“I see your point, lady.” I dip my head. “I fear I did not wound you too badly…?”

“This? I’ll be fine.” She casts a healing on herself, hovering her hands around the different parts of her body that sustained the injuries I gave her. “I got you pretty good once or twice too, you know. Sorry.”

“You need not apologize.” I heal myself as well, studying her over. She seems changed from when we last parted. Mature, but with more underlying reserve in her personality from before. Had something happened? Where was her foul-mouthed companion? Had he betrayed and abandoned her? It wouldn’t surprise me if he had; Bishop was a bitter sociopath who could barely grasp anyone else’s struggle except his own. He always insisted he was a ‘puckish rogue’ or something of the like, but he was evil. No better than the vampires. At least they killed for necessity. Bishop just killed those whom he encountered and found they wouldn’t bow to him. I had seen him first hand just strike down a man who refused him board at a nearby inn, sheathing his dagger and calmly turning to me to snort some low utter of amusement after doing so. 

When I had seen him lying in a bed in Solitude, within inches of his life, I couldn’t help but hear the faint voice in the back of my skull telling me to finish him off. I would have loved to, but the Dragonborn in front of me wouldn’t have understood. Solitude wouldn’t have either, if she let me live, that is. And after healing him, Bishop tries to grovel and convince me he’s changed.

That’s idiotic. He hadn’t changed. 

He’s probably dead by now. If Rowan’s standing in front of me, then Bishop failed. She hasn’t been reduced to a stack of gold in his coin pouch. I had been so worried and conflicted as I rode towards the vigilants; I felt as if I had locked her in with a cannibal. Though he did underestimate the Dragonborn’s strength himself; Rowan was fully able to handle herself in anything this nation state could throw at her. She had probably shouted Bishop off a cliff as soon as he had pulled that stained dagger of his out. 

“Anyways…” She brushes her armor off. “What are you doing back here?”

“Killing off some vampires in the back. This cave is the escape route for a settlement nearby, Dragonborn.” I tilt my head downwards as I bow slightly, acknowledging her rank.

“Rowan is fine, thank you, Paladin.”

“Then you shall call me Casavir, my lady.”

“I don’t think the irony of what I just said crossed my mind.” She pauses. “...Casavir.” She yawns. “Well, thanks for doing that. Would've killed us in our sleep otherwise.”

“Us?” I raise my head. She has another companion?

“Bishop’s at the front of the cave. Poor little guy’s poisoned.” She snorts, tilting her head to the front of the cave. I freeze, my sword nearly coming from my hand as I completely stop to stare at her face in awe. Bishop’s still with her? She hasn’t discarded the ba-

Arrogant Ranger?

“He’s here?” I try and hide the surprise and disgust in my voice. 

“...Indeed.” She reads me like a spellbook; reaching out and patting my blood-stained armor. “Here, come with me to our base camp. Don’t stab the sleeping ranger, and we’ll get you cleaned up. Blood eats away at metal a lot faster than you expect.”

“You’re kind, my lady, but…”

“Casavir.” She stops me. “Come with me. He can’t do anything to hurt you; he’s coming back from paralyzation. You need to rest.”

“As you wish…” I nod nervously as she reinforces her candlelight, and the both of us walk side-by-side through the cave. We get a few steps when she pauses, tugging at her belt and tapping against my cuirass with a bit of glass.

“Stamina. Get your energy back.” She says quietly. I remember my exchange with Bishop; she’s a brilliant chemist. The quintessence of a Breton, the lady beside me is strength personified. I will need to watch my manners even more carefully, especially if I am to be in  _ his  _ presence. 

“My thanks.” I drink it in graciously, thankful to feel my muscles begin to unwind and repair themselves again. I heave a sigh as my feet no longer feel like the same material as my boots, and I turn to hand it back to her, gently pressing the vial into her palm. She takes it, wincing as though I’ve struck her at the movement. I immediately stop walking. “My-my apologies…”

“No...my foot…” She pauses, shifting her legs. “My foot struck a rock.” My eyes drift downward, and I see no such thing; perhaps they caught on something else.

“I see. I guess it was the unevenness of the cave.” I nod. “Have you been fighting?”

“Yes, but not here.” She repeats. “We can move on, Casavir. It was just a rock.”

“If you’re okay…”

“Just a rock.” She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “You don’t need to baby me, Paladin. Really.”

“I’m sorry-”

“And no need to apologize; it isn’t a big deal. I’m not some stuck-up formal noble. It’s okay.” She grins. “Come on; not much farther. I know you’re tired.”

“That I am, Rowan.” I say, her name still seeming so foreign on my lips without some sort of prefix or respect before it.

“Here we go…” We round the corner, and the brightness illuminates my nemesis next to it splendidly, placed perfectly to offend my eyes. 

“I...see.” I stare at Bishop’s sleeping form, tucked into a bedroll with his wolf at his side. He looks peaceful, with a hand straying out of his covers to lay limp on the dirt, as if he was gripping something. He almost looks human.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She asks, tugging a spare blanket over to me. “And how does this damn armor come off…?” Rowan pulls and unhooks my belts and buckles until my outer shell comes to pieces around me, relieving me of the weight. I roll my shoulders, sighing once I’m released from the metallic prison. Once I’m sitting in front of the fire I feel much more at home, and take to warming my digits in front of the flame. 

“Thank you. And...if you have some to spare…” I say meekly. She shoves a bottle of wine and some bread and meat into my hands before I can speak again without a word. 

“That good?” She makes a sandwich out of hers, sitting on a rock facing me from across the fire. 

“Yes, of course…” I look to the wine. I’m not supposed to, but if need be… I won’t let it overpower….

“He can’t drink alcohol.” A male voice breaks the silence I leave. Bishop props himself up on an elbow, staring at me as I sit. Without my sword and armor, I feel so exposed… Gods help me deal with this wretched thing unaided….

“Oh, right.” Rowan smacks her cheek, grabbing a waterskin from her bag and chucking it to me. “Sorry Paladin. Didn’t mean to almost make you break your vows.”

“It’s quite alright, I simply just can’t lose control.” I breathe. “I can’t get into a wrong mindstate, but wine would have been okay…”

“You can’t handle alcohol. You would have been fighting in a few secon-”

“Bishop!” I snap, his voice angering me instantly. It’s like dying cats scratching a schoolhouse blackboard! The man butts into a conversation like-

“Don’t tease the Paladin, Ranger.” 

“Quit picking up strangers, Dragonborn.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, partner.”

“I still got a voice, though it may not be a dragon’s, smithy.” 

“We going to keep going with that, or…?”

“Nope. Smithy was my last card.”

“Good. You hungry?”

“Yes.” He sits up fully, grabbing some food from Rowan’s bag and leaning against his wolf, who happily serves as his chair back. “So why the hell did I wake up to  _ this bastard  _ here?” He asks, slipping in the profanity like it’s nothing. To him, it’s just a passing question, like the weather-!

“He was killing vampires so they didn’t gnaw on your ass, Bishop.” Rowan replies with equally as little emotion. “Don’t fight.”

“Not fighting. But I do have a right to know why the hell I wake up to a man who wants to kill me.”

I’d argue, but I can’t lie as a Paladin.

“Cas, you going to try and kill him?”

“Not at the moment.” I say, clenching my fists. My gaze from Bishop’s face falls as I can no longer meet his eyes, and I instead just stare loosely at the ground, trying not to imagine the satisfaction it’d bring. I left that all behind-I’m peaceful, through and through. But this man tries my old habits so intensely...

“You going to try anything, Bishop?”

“Only if he gets too close. And if he won’t stop staring at my crotch.” Bishop rolls back. I snap up to Rowan, feeling my face flush red from both anger and embarrassment. 

“I doubt he’s staring there. Too small a place.” Rowan quips, giving me a friendly wink. “Now then. You spending the night Paladin, or is the Ranger that repulsive? I understand if you decline, but you seem so exhausted.”

“I graciously accept. I’ve been fighting constantly for the past two days.” I stand, looking for a suitable place to rest. “I can take first watch, if you wish…”

“Sit back down. And you don’t need to take a watch; I can do that.” Rowan soothes, picking up her bedroll from under Bishop and dragging it. She sets it next to me, motioning for me to use it, but I resist. I can’t take it away from her; I’m used to sleeping without any sort of blanket anyway.

“My lady, I can’t-”

“Take it.” She pushes, smoothing it out onto the ground. “It’s fine, Paladin. Besides, if you’re not well rested, you can’t help at Bloodlet Throne. They’ll need your strength.” She looks to how I bite my lip, thinking it over. “I insist, Casavir.”

“If you so insist…” I still pause, but there was no hesitation in her offering. I begrudging accept, and as I shift onto the padded fabric, I can’t help but feel as if I’m taking something from her. “Rowan-”

“Don’t you mean ‘my lady’? You call everyone with a feminine face that. Or ‘good sir’? Take the damn bed, Paladin. Or I will.” I clench my fist, biting down onto my tongue until I taste the salty iron of blood. Rowan comes to my rescue, as she’s prone to do, but I can only feel as with each rebuttal, I’m plunging further into her debt. 

“Bishop, don’t pick at the man. Casavir, ignore him. He’s in pain; can’t hold alcohol well either. You’ll need to rest up so you can protect everyone in Falkreath; they’re counting on the vigilants.” Rowan hushes both of us, her voice melodic like a goddess as I wearily shut my eyes. “Get to sleep, both of you.”


	42. The pair-o-docs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to Gyffindor for dealing with the chapter title! (Worst one yet, in my opinion)

I wake up slowly with the sky, my eyes opening to the crack of dawn rising through the cave entrance. I groan as I feel the consequences of fighting in my bones, making the process of sitting up a laborious one I can’t complete without shifting this way and that. My muscles aren’t as disciplined as my mind is; I’ll need to take more care with my health.

“Good, you’re awake.” I hear his voice sound. My body tenses despite the dull pain, and I roll my neck to face him, sneering even though I tried to remain neutral.

“Yes; I appreciate you not being a knife in the dark.” I spit out. “Wasn’t Rowan to take-” I then realise it’s morning. The two of them switched in the night. But Rowan doesn’t sleep next to him anywhere. Instead, she lays in Bishop's grasp, his arms wrapped around her gently so she comfortably settles against his chest. His wolf is curled at his feet, pressed against Rowan as if guarding her sleep. I gulp at how picturesque they are, with her innocent sleeping face contrasting with his own scarred and darkened countenance, like a mercenary with a hostage. It’s exactly what the two are, in all rights.

“Morning, tin can.” He says back. “Listen-”

“No, I won’t. Don’t insult me again, Bishop, or-”

“Don’t wake her up!” He hushes, looking to the woman in his arms. She doesn’t stir, but he readjusts her in his grasp to lay her more comfortably. 

“Fine. For her sake.” I vow. 

“Casavir, I need a favor.”

“You dare ask me for something? After all you’ve done?” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “Fine; I deserve a good laugh. Say it, Nord.”

“It isn’t for me.” He says ominously. “It’s for the lady.”

“What is it?” I make it to my knees, crouching as I peer over the coals of the fire to the Ranger. “And I still will probably say no. I somehow don’t believe you’d wish her anything good.”

“Her legs. They’ve been...well, you’ll see, and if there’s anyone in Skyrim who can heal them, it’d be you.” 

“A Compliment. Perhaps you have changed slightly. Her legs? What’s happened to her?” I shift closer to them, warily looking to Karnwyr as he shows teeth at my presence. 

“Can you put her to sleep? So she doesn’t wake up at all?” Bishop speaks in a hushed tone, desperately trying not to wake her. “She’s a light sleeper nowadays. A lot of the times she’ll take both shifts and I’m getting concerned.”

“I can.” I say, just as restrained with my voice. I slowly lean forward, pausing as Karnwyr growls sharply. If I get hurt while trying to assist...

“Down.” Bishop dismisses him, and the wolf goes back to sleeping without a second thought. Bishop spoils the wolf rotten; if he ordered the canine to heel, something must be up. I reach out and press my hand against her forehead gently, lulling her mind into a deep sleep that won’t break for a couple hours at least. She flinches under my touch but my magic brings her under, and she goes fully limp in Bishop’s arms again. “Thank the Gods…” He breathes. 

“Tell me what this is about, now. Because if I just put her under for no good reason…” I begin, trying to think of some threat I could say that doesn’t involve swearing.

“Quit it; I want what’s best for her too, you damn toaster.” He reprimands. “Her legs...well... they’re a bit…” He goes silent, trying to think of the words. He looks to the ceiling as if there is a script written on the stone, and I feel the air tense as he’s unwilling to expose what’s happened.

“Bishop.” I call him back.

“Her legs were broken and didn’t heal correctly.” He says at last. Liar. Rowan is an excellent doctor. She’s an accomplished healer and alchemist, and the few potions she gave me over our time were a higher quality than those I’ve encountered from the masters in High Rock. There is no way she’d let her own body heal incorrectly. What is he trying to mask?

“Tell me the truth, Ranger, or I’ll drag you back to Cyrodiil for the courts.”

“Wow, still on that old story? Gods Paladin, just let it go. We’re both different people. You’re an asshole, I’m a Ranger; no need to bring up the past.” He freezes, shaking his head. “Damn it! Say whatever you want, just help her; that’s your duty as a Vigilant, isn’t it!?”

“It is, but you certainly don’t have to be in the picture.” I condemn. “What happened to her?” Although I would never dream of denying Rowan medical treatment, it’s evident Bishop is prioritizing her condition over himself. Admirable, but with his character it doesn’t count for anything past greed. “I can’t heal her without the full story, Ranger.” I decide to soften my voice. As disgusting as it is to be on good terms with the monster, I’ll tolerate him for the moment.

“Quit being so aggressive, Cas. It doesn’t suit you.” He gently sets Rowan onto his bedroll, shoving his blanket underneath her knees so they’re elevated. “Fine; but not a word of this to her, alright?”

“Alright. Why?”

“Because she isn’t proud of it, and I’d rather her believe they magically healed rather than her know she got outside help. She’s too damn prideful. And if I see her space out again, thinking about-” He hesitates as he gently lays her head into his lap. “I want your word as a Paladin, Casavir.” 

“You have my word, Ranger. Tell me.” I sit cross-legged, preparing for a story.

…

“And so...now she’s like this.” He concludes lamely. “You don’t breathe a word to her that I told you, understand? Or  _ I’ll  _ be the one hunting you.”

“She’s endured so much over the course of these few months.” I say, still taking in her story. Captured by the forsworn, her memories gone, and forced to stumble around while trying to evade their internal conflicts and that Chief. Fighting for them blindly out of sheer obligation, and taking a fall for them that was so steep I can’t comprehend how loyal Rowan may be. It figures she’d stick by the Ranger if that was her at her worst. Though by how it sounds, and how Bishop recalls Rowan’s account of what she did around the village, I’m surprised the Chieftain-whoever he is- didn’t fight harder to keep her as a pseudo-captive. The forsworn have attacked many vigilants on the road, myself included, and I can only guess at how difficult it must be for an outsider to survive their wicked traditions. I finally quit shaking after Bishop described her fall second hand. Rowan played it down in her recollection, but Bishop assured me that he was confident that the drop of Markarth’s mountain is at least thirty five, if not forty meters. That’s a guard tower with twelve stories; how she survived with everything this intact is an amazing feat. Supposedly she landed correctly somehow...she’s knowledgeable that way...but that hagraven only damned any chance she had of coming out of that without permanent damage. Sealing her legs after a crushing fall, not allowing the body to form the room it needs… like trapping a lion cub in a small cage and being surprised when it outgrows it. The pain must be immense. 

“And she’s in so much pain, especially at night, I’m sc-” He pauses. “Can you heal her?”  
“Was that a ‘scared’ I heard, Ranger?”

“I’m...skeptical that she’s holding up as well as she says.” He finishes. I saw that ‘sc’, Bishop. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I can heal her...possibly. Though you’re going to cooperate. And I’ll need to gain some strength.”

“There’s potions in my bag, take whatever. I don’t care, as long as she gets healed.” He half sneers, gritting his teeth at the situation instead of me. Perhaps he has matured. He realizes he can’t handle this himself, and for that he’s willing to go as far as bowing to me. Metaphorically, at least. 

“Seeing you care for someone else is so...wrong, Bishop.” I decide to loosen my guard a bit. He’s harmless as long as Rowan is in his arms. 

“She’s...different.”

“Stereotypical, are we? Wonder how many times I’ve heard that line.” Though I know what he means. She’s absolutely enchanting. Strong and independent, she’s exactly how I pictured the dragonborn. Her warrior spirit bows to no one, and she walks an entirely different plane than the rest of the second-rate fighters in this country. Hypnotic fighting mixed with the tender humanity she holds for others makes her a matchless companion to travel with, and her knowledge entices anyone she meets as soon as she says a word from her shell pink lips. Her scars add to her depth, and her face is worn yet still shines brighter than the other ladies I’ve encountered here. The feminine frame she holds is muscular and lean, but despite her role as Dragonborn she still has the correct assets… 

Gods, I’m not supposed to think about that. 

I’m also not supposed to be staring at her sleeping face either, tantalizing myself with the image of her soft cheeks and lips, but here I am. 

“ **So about that healing…** ” Bishop growls, watching my stare.

“Ah...yes. Apologies. I can heal her.” I shift over to Bishop’s bag, digging through his bag for some sort of magic potion. All I touch is…

“Is that your underwear?” I rear back, shoving the pack forcefully away. Disgusting! 

“It’s clean, calm yourself. You didn’t inadvertently touch my high commander.” he says nonchalantly. “What are you looking for?”

“Does she have any potions for mages? The ones that restore…”

“They’re the deep blue bottles along the side of her bag. Her bag is here.” He says, reaching out and grabbing one from a holster. He lingers for a moment before heaving a sigh and handing it to me, closing his eyes most of the way and wrenching his head to the side. Is he trying to pretend like he isn’t actually helping me? Like a little kid stealing something while looking away, so they can claim they didn’t ‘see’ the crime.

I peer into the faint bluish liquid, watching a faint silvery swirl lazily form in the azure as I slosh the mixture. This was made by Rowan… figures. It looks like liquid sapphires, glittering from in the bottle like candy. Mine always turned out a greyish-blue sludge. I envy her work.

I tilt it backwards, preparing myself for the searing cold taste of the potion, but it never comes. Instead it tastes of honey and a few other spices my untrained palate can’t identify. 

“Don’t look so surprised.” Bishop snaps. “Hurry up! When will she wake?”

“Soon.” I pause another moment to let the magic flow back through me, artificially placed. But I feel as if it’s my own make; Rowan did a good job creating these elixirs. I place my hands at her knee and thigh, slowly pulsing my healing through to try and see what I can find. 

Nothing. Once I begin my craft, instead of picturing the clear image of her bones, I see nothing at all. A shadow seems to block my healing, but it isn’t one I can identify. In my mind’s eye I feel myself recoil at the dark as the magic bounces back, knitting together flesh that doesn’t need it.

“Ouch!” I say, bringing my hands away. It felt like sparks singing my palm! Divines, what happened? “What-?”

“What is it?” Bishop leans forward, growing impatient. “Damn it, what?”

“Curse, or at least I think it is…” I tutt. “Bishop, mind your tongue.”

“You  _ think  _ it’s a curse?” 

“I’ve...never had my magic shot back at me.”

“What?”

“It isn’t even penetrating. I can’t see anything.” I sigh, sitting back. Perhaps I am in need of some more practice. I may require a trip to the College of Winterhold sometime soon. 

“Why not?”

“I just told you, I think it’s a curse!” I growl back, surprised at my own aggression. I pause and soothe my mind, bringing myself back down from anger. “I don’t know.”

“Some healer you are.” He scoffs. “Damn it... damn it!”

“I’m not saying I can’t do it, Bishop.” I chew on my lip. Sure, I would if I could… but I’ll need to figure out a way to get that shadow curtain out of the way. I rummage through my bag, pulling out a deep purple potion. It’s one for healers, and it’s a strong draught from High Rock. It should help me in this endeavor. 

“Bishop, I’m going to need you to…” I shift over, thinking of what I want. As if by habit I bounce some magic again, but this time… “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”

“The curse.” I shake my head. Is my sanity in check? Did I actually consume alcohol last night? Did I not sleep well? Perhaps it wasn’t a curse at all. It certainly felt more demonic, but that’s impossible. I feel my heart clench up at the realization; my lady... what have you been doing? But her habits seemed usual. I didn’t detect anything wrong with her actions last night, and she still portrayed my image of her to the letter last night. Kind, strong, and willing to sacrifice herself. If something gripped her, I would know.

No. Maybe I’m wrong. I have to be wrong. Please, Stendarr, let me be wrong. 

“So everything’s okay?”

“Yes.” I say slowly, going back to my work. Despite being able to properly heal, I still feel the shifty spirit of something under her skin. This dragonborn is troubled. But perhaps it is her dragon spirit? I’m not exactly very versed in what their duality means. Part woman, part dragon… can the dragon half disagree with the rest of her?

Mara… her legs are in a deplorable condition. The hagraven that attended to her is abhorrent for doing this kind of treatment to one so powerful. Like clipping the wings of a hawk!

“You know, I thought you were a good healer.” Bishop snarls, settling back. He’s worried. He’s whittling a stray stick, something he did only to calm his nerves so I’ll let him off; but I still can’t help but imagine my sword going through his tanned skin… only the lady’s words stay my blade. I am not violent, and if it were only the past part of me straining to kill him, I would resist with all my heart; but I worry too for the safety of those around him. If Rowan were to quit his presence, I can’t imagine the havoc he’d wreck on his lonesome.

I find the abnormalities, and very carefully smooth them out as I work my way down her leg. The small kinks in the bone are easy enough to work out, but it’s barely within my power to fix her joints. I nearly fail; I was never squeamish as a Paladin, but to try and imagine what she’s endured like this… it makes even my stomach somersault. Bless this Dragonborn; she deserves every ounce of notoriety she has. 

I finish nearly an hour later, and her legs are perfectly repaired. At least to where her body can finish the job in a few days. Rowan’s face becomes more placid and peaceful as her head settles, her grimace turning neutral in her slumber. I wipe the sweat from my brow- I hadn’t even noticed how strenuous the healing was- and lean back with a sigh, slowly muttering a prayer under my breath.

“Is she okay?” Of course Bishop interrupts my prayer. 

“Yes. She’ll be fine.” I say, returning to my thanksgiving.

“Gods...thank you.” He exhales, breathing in a slow breath as he grasps at his hair.

“You’re…welcome?” I reply. We both meet each other’s stares, narrowing our gaze in agreeance. That never happened. Still mutual enemies.

“When will she wake up?” The aggression in his voice returns after the fleeting moment.

“About an hour, even-” I was about to say ‘even with how long I took’, but Rowan’s eyes flicker open before I can say it. She sits up, slowly, but doesn’t look to Bishop or I. She rolls her shoulders as she stares at the opening of the cave steadily, searching for something.

“Ladyship?”

“How long was I out? What happened?”

“You just...slept for a while and we didn’t wake you. Why? Mad?” He asks, shifting to his knees. 

“No… there’s a dragon.” She swings herself to her feet in a graceful motion, dipping down to grab her pack and snagging her bedroll without breaking eye contact with the entrance. “Decently sized one, too.”

“Where?”

“Close enough. Within a half mile; but it’s coming this way.” 

“Alright. Casavir, can you handle yourself?” Bishop looks to me, smirking. He knows I used a lot of energy healing the lady; but I won’t say no! 

“Of course. And when you get a limb eaten off, I’ll be sure to attach it on backwards.” 

“Which begs the question...if you do that, would all your movements be inverted, or would your brain try to do one thing, and your arm would do another? Like you try and move your thumb, but you make a fist instead?” Rowan’s a curious doctor, it seems. 

“I do not know. We can experiment on Bishop.”

“I like that idea.”

“Doesn’t that go against some law of the Vigilants!?” Bishop grabs his bow and quiver, hauling his pack to his side as well. 

“As long as you’re alive, no.” I say, unsheathing my greatsword. I run my hand along the blade, tapping the edge to test the blade as Rowan advances to the front.

“You want to stay here, Cas?”

“Of course not, my lady. I will fight with you.”

“Though I guess you don’t have to worry about being eaten.”

“...Why is that?” I raise an eyebrow. Perhaps I’m too heavy? Or maybe they don’t enjoy eating Bretons. That’d surely explain why this incident is isolated to Skyrim. Perhaps their flesh is more delicious-

“Because you’d probably taste pretty lawful.” 

“Ah...good one…” I say, forcing a smile. 

“You don’t have to laugh. I never do.” Bishop advises, walking to the Dragonborn’s side. “She just wanted to say that joke while you were here. She’s already made it twice on separate occasions.”

“I’m a comedy genius. You two just don’t appreciate real humor.”

“Puns are the lowest form of humor, Ladyship.” 

“It’s either puns or sarcasm, Bishop.”

“I’d take the sarcasm.”

“And that’s why I make puns!” She says, swaggering as she walks out of the cave and to the sunshine. I try and stifle my laugh, but of course she hears me; once she reaches the wall of sunshine she spins to face me, a smile of her own growing. “Alright, the flying wind bag is this way!”


	43. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, posts may become a bit more infrequent as I need to get writing done for other projects. Hang on for new chapters!
> 
> ***EDIT I fixed the format! Whoops!

“So Rowan...how do you feel?” Bishop asks as we hike up a hillside.

“My foot’s asleep, for some reason. Just my foot, too.” 

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Like some sort of coma-toes.” I giggle. 

“Why the hell do I ask!? Seriously!”

“Because you care.~” I reply smugly. “You keeping up, Paladin?”

“Right behind you, my lady.” He replies, his voice right over my shoulder. Too close! I snap around, scaring myself out of my wits as I see the Paladin’s face less than a foot behind me.

“Gods, Cas! I didn’t know you meant you were  _ right  _ behind me!”

“...Sorry.” He replies, distancing himself slightly. “I only worry that-”

“She can handle herself much better than you can,” Bishop growls. “Quit it, Paladin.”

“Bishop, he’s fine. Cas, I do this all the time. And I can do it alone, too. Sans ranger.”

“I only wish-” Casavir starts to protest. “I see.”

“There we go. Was that so hard?” Bishop’s snide tone irks something in me, and I whip out an arrow from my quiver, lobbing it at him like a javelin. 

“Quittit!” 

“What about tit?” Bishop smirks. 

“Bishop!” Cas snaps.

“Cas!” He growls.

“Rowan!” I scream happily. They both stop. “There we go. Calm down. I know you guys have some shit between you, but we’re just  _ walking _ . Stop.” I give them a few seconds. “Better?”

“Yes-” Casavir starts as the trees ripple. A dragon races above our heads, a screech emitting to the forest below in a wave that quakes the ground like a sorrowful puppy. “Stendarr’s mercy!”

“Wow. I’m counting that as a swear.” Bishop whips off his bow, nocking an arrow and searching the skies. “Ladyship?” 

“Let’s see if he lands on his own. Bishop, where’s the nearest open space?” 

“The treeline ends abruptly to your left.” Bishop tilts his head. “But it’s a hillside.”

“It’ll do!” I bring fireballs to my hands, rushing to where Bishop directs. “The hillside will hopefully be on  _ my  _ side!”

“That was shitty and you know it!” He follows me, and the three of us break into a run. We’ll need to try to keep from leaving Casavir behind. I can hear his armor clanking, and he’s struggling to keep up with Bishop and I. 

“Rowan-” Casavir gets our attention as the dragon makes another pass over us. Its skin was a splotchy whitish grey, with strong wings that showed no tattering. Its eyes and horns were simple and neatly laid, not dug in from age, and his cry is more aggressive than the other dragons.

“What do you think?” Bishop stops to where I’ve halted at the very edge of the clearing, letting Casavir catch up.

“It’s just a simple frost dragon. Not much danger here. Young and a hothead.”

“Literally.”

“Nope, this one’s frost. Not literally. Only thing that’s concerning is it seems a lot bigger than its kin. Wonder what it’s been doing?”

“Oh good,” Bishop sighs. “Well Casavir, looks like we’ve kept the training wheels on for this one.”

“Quiet….Ranger….” He huffs.

“Someone needs to lay off the sweets, yeah? Solitude may have been  _ too  _ good for you…” 

“Shove it, Bishop, or karma’s going to give you a beer gut.” I quip, scanning the hillside. “No cover.”

“Eh, I can take the frost.” Bishop shrugs.

“Me and Cas can’t. We’re bretons.” I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck. “Cas, you comfortable with warding?”

“Of course.”

“Try not to look conspicuous, okay? That armor gets frozen and you’re asking for frostbite.” I shoot off a ghostly arrow half-heartedly, just because I can waste them with a clear conscience. 

“My lady, I’ll be sure to prove to you that I can handle myself.” He smiles softly. “Do not worry for me.”

“Still will, Paladin. Still will.” I nock another arrow. “I’ll bring it down. Paladin, you’re out of reach of the tail just before it’s back leg, but watch the wings. Bishop, you…” I pause. “Yep.”

“Heard you loud and clear.” He says smugly. “Hey Paladin, be sure your little altar boy doesn’t freeze off.” 

“Bishop-!” Casavir looks to me for support...until he realizes I’m nearly crying with laughter.

“Ha-Bishop!…” I manage to croak out amongst the laughing sobs. 

“My lady!” Cas grows red in the face, staring down at the both of us with judgement. 

“Sorry!” I say as the dragon makes another pass, sparking me into action. I jump into motion, pulling back an arrow and narrowly clipping its tail. That got its attention, at least. 

It contorts mid air and shifts into a dive, coming at us with frost stirring in its belly. Cas braces himself and tightens his grip on his sword, but Bishop stands flat-footed. He knows what I’m about to do. 

“ **JOOR, ZAH FRUL** !” I command, knocking the dragon out of the air. When I learned this shout, I was told it was nearly crippling to a dragon. It makes it understand mortality, and apparently the shock kills their ability to fly. That’s honestly just sad. Thinking about human life makes them too depressed to fly. Apparently being human is so degrading it messes with their motor skills.

“Ladyship, I think he plowed straight through the trees. Good job.”

“Deforestation. Hopefully the spriggans don’t smother us.” I look to Bishop quickly. “Or drag us off.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” He says, no humor making it to his voice. “Alright. We’re up.”

“Indeed.” I fire an arrow into the fallen beast’s hide, hearing the roar that it emits from the indignation. It snaps around to face me, the tail snaking like a mace; yet Cas saunters right up to it. He’s counting on me to distract it- and I’ll give him that distraction.

_ “Dovahkiin… _ ” It breathes, eyes locking on me. Bishop edges away, bringing back his arrow and letting it fire. Of course the dragon swishes it out of the air. This one wants direct confrontation with me.

“Yes?” I tilt my head to the side. The dragon’s scales around its face pull back, almost like the dragon was...smirking? 

_ “Have you fallen prisoner to a  _ **_Krasaar_ ** _...sickness?” _ He asks.

“Legs are fine, thanks for asking.” I say calmly. “Now, let’s get to fighting, unless you’ll turn tail and run?”

_ “That is not..” _ He gnashes his teeth, lunging forward at me.  _ “Do not test me!” _

I switch to a sword, warding the dragon off with a few light threatening slices to the snout. I try to thrust upward into its chin, but of course he moves; these younger dragons are much more wily than the older ones. On the bright side, they don’t have names I need to remember for conversations with the blades. Honestly, they’re obsessed. I’m the damn dragonborn and I’m less interested than them. 

“What if I want to? Hell, I can take another soul.” I say right as Casavir makes contact with the dragon. The heavy greatsword induced a slice even the dragon can’t ignore. He rears back, annoyed, and tries for a tail swipe; thankfully Casavir had recovered at least some of his quickness and drops to the ground before it connects. “Eyes on me, scaly.” I command, summoning my second saber. 

_ “Coward…!” _ It hisses, swiping at me again. I try and back up but the impact knocks me off balance, sending me sprawling into the dirt.

“You’re attacking me, I don’t know what you expected!” I say, watching it thrash its wings about. It hisses again and snaps at me, the incisors of the dragon coming mere inches from my face. I plunge a dagger at its maw, cracking cartilage, but don’t have enough strength to drive it through; my swords aren’t sharp enough to let me cleave through bone, even with my power. “There are no rules in war, icebox!”

I grunt at my last taunt, swinging my swords again. Instead of slicing through, they clatter off the scales and the strain take its toll on my grip. The dragon viciously slashes left, shattering my swords uselessly.

“We evolve, just as you do!” He bellows. “My hide is stronger, like steel from humans!”

“Your voice is annoying, like bard from Morthal.” I mutter, bringing my sword back to the fray. Our clashes meet time and time again, and the dragon continues to try and sweep Casavir and Bishop away; but slowly we’re overtaking it. Bishop’s arrows are sharp enough to wedge into its scales, and Casavir holds more power than even his huge figure reveals. 

All at once I see it working out the best way to take out the three of us. Without warning his jaws ram into me and fling me away from him, letting him whirl his wings around and splay them out in the limited space of the wood, reaching out to Bishop and swiping him with the dragon’s claws. As for Casavir…

“Ward!” I remind him, swearing as I use up all the air I had. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but I don’t particularly care; I was flung to nearly the edge of the wood. This is bad…! 

Casavir’s ward goes up barely in time, and I can see the magic take a beating; cracks snake out from his palms as the dragon smugly pelts hail at his small shield.

I make it to my feet just in time to witness it crack, and Casavir disappears into the spray of ice. 

“Dammit!” I shout out, looking over to Bishop. We’re both  _ frozen  _ from the sight…

Not the time for a pun. 

“Bishop, distract it real fast!” I call, and Bishop begrudgingly yells back some sort of confirmation. I don’t bother to check what that distraction is as I bolt over to the fallen Paladin, sliding next to him and tugging at his armor, only to find it too frozen for me to touch.

“I...apologize, I could not hold it for long…” Casavir starts, fumbling with the words.

“You just took a direct hit by a dragon for about ten seconds. Paladin, how you’re still conscious is amazing.” I switch to a dagger, cutting the ties of his armor and throwing it off of him. He can fix it later. For now, I need to keep the cold metal from sticking to his skin. A piece had attached itself to his leg, and when I try and pick it up, it disgustingly tears at him a bit.

“My lady…” He starts. “I can…” 

I ignore him, bringing a bit of magic to my palm but not letting it manifest completely. I press my digits painfully to the metal, warming it up with my half-assed fire magic carefully to release him without a frostbite burn. We’ll still have to treat it, but at least he won’t lose anything.

“Cas, stay down. Bishop and I can end this quickly. You focus on treating your leg.”

“No, I can-”

“Stay down.” I command, throwing a firebolt to the dragon’s face. It singes down its skin, annoying it enough to focus on me again and to quit trying to pry Bishop from his hiding place amongst the trees. 

“You know, I really didn’t think you were this eager to die!” I say heartily, summoning an atronach out of the dust next to me. 

“ _ I will not… _ ” It breathes, ice cold air coming out of its nostrils. “ _ I will reclaim your blood. I can restore us!” _

“Lame. Bringing back the dragons again? Come on, Akatosh let them get killed for a reason. Probably never even called on Father’s day.” I sigh, shaking my head. “You aren’t going to kill me. And I’m pretty pissed you just injured a friend of mine.” 

It decides not to answer me. That’s fine. 

“Fine.” I say, bringing my swords again. We’re really pushing the summoning limit here! The atronach joins Bishop in the barrage, assisting his steel arrows with bolts of fire. I need to give Casavir enough time to recover from being blasted by sub-zero winds. I tie up its jaws again, locking his movements and not allowing him vision on my companions. “I’ve slayed a hundred of you at this point. Just give up.”

_ “No…!”  _ It bellows, the words nearly kicking my balance from me again. Its jaws are locked with my swords, and Bishop just tore a hole in its pretty wing. It’ll heal; but his pride won’t. “ _ I will not fall!” _ The dragon braces, hunkering low to the ground as he pushes off gracefully, taking to the air. 

“Rowan!” Bishop says as his arrows whizz past.

“Got it!” I take a deep breath, clearing my mind. “ **FUS... ROH DAH!** ” I command the air to burst as I force the dragon backwards, stealing the air from his wings and sending him sprawling. He recovers shoddily, collecting himself in sharp movements I can only chuckle at while advancing. 

“ _ Dovahkiin… _ !” The dragon snarls, about to blast me with winter incarnate. I throw up my ward before the frost forms, bracing against the ice as it clatters against my shield and into the field behind me; I can feel the remnants of the dirt hit my forearms as I let the dragon drain himself, desperately trying to break my ward like it did to Casavir. 

The ice falters, and the dragon wails as it realizes its spent what magic it had on a useless effort. The large battleaxe comes to my hands, and the dragon wails even louder once he sees the long tempered blade. 

…

“I’m sorry, my lady. I apologize. I thought I would be able to better handle myself.” He sighs, stringing his armor back together. 

“It’s fine. You’re still tired. I’m sorry for tearing your armor apart.” I smirk, watching Bishop saunter over. “How’s the armor?”

“Yeah yeah, it saved me from getting the sniffles..” He shrugs. “Doesn’t prove anything! Take your soul and let’s get going.”

“Pushy.” I stick out my tongue. “I’ll just be a second.” I walk over close enough for the dragon to decay, the winds redirecting its essence to my form. The warm feeling I get nearly makes me drowsy, and I yawn against my will. 

“Tired? You just slept for ten hours.” Bishop taunts from behind me. 

“I don’t know how I slept that long! I’m usually awake by first light at least!” I sigh, turning back to them. “Maybe I ate something bad.”

“Probably.” Bishop says quickly. “Alright...where are we going?”

“Bloodlet throne!” I say, crossing my arms. “I guess we should go lend a hand. Paladin?”

“We graciously accept your help. But if you need time to recover, we certainly can handle it on our own. We may not be of noble blood, but the Vigilants are warriors in their own right.” He smirks. “But it is reassuring to have your help. We do not know what may be in the fort.” Bishop groans, shaking his head.

“Who are the other two? We met Halfi not too long ago.”

“Oh you did? Then we’ll need to hurry. I don’t want to be the last to arrive, especially when I was here for so long before.” 

“We aren’t too far. At least I don’t think. Bishop?” He crosses his arms angrily, looking to me with an annoyed and perplexed countenance. He isn’t too pleased to be roped into this business. “...Please?”

“Just east of here. Only a few miles.” He says at last. “Not even worth calling the horses over.”

“Alright then!” I adjust my path accordingly, and from the motion end up walking side-by-side with the Paladin. “So, Casavir, how have the Vigilants been?”

“Oh? You never got my letter?” He asks, an eyebrow perking up.

“No?” I pause, blinking. “Only mail I’ve gotten has been from the Companions.”

“I tried to send you a letter, but I suppose it got tied up in the mail.” He sighs. “That’s certainly regrettable. Perhaps I should have hand delivered it.” He smiles a bit as he recalls what the contents were. “The Vigilants have been very receptive to me. I’m grateful you pointed me in their direction.”

“Well I’m glad you could help them. They’ve been struggling.” I shiver, summoning a small flame to my palm. It sputters out and dies after a few seconds uselessly. The sparks singes my fingertips, betraying me, and I cringe from the contact. “Ouch!”

“Out of magic, Rowan?” Bishop chimes. “You can put on the badass attitude but can’t hold it forever.” He’s probably still angry from the dwarven ruins. Not my fault he wasn’t suspicious of stairs.

“She certainly doesn’t need to.” Casavir says, pulling a cloak from his pack and draping it over me. “Now then...you were saying?”

“Thank you, Cas, but you need this more than me.” I move to take it off, but he waves it away. I give him a soft smile and pull it taut around me, pleased at how it warms my arms. I may have not been hit directly by the frost, but I’m still chilled to the bone.

“Call it my thanks if you must,” He assures me. “If it will make you feel better...I will trade you for a resist frost potion.” 

I giggle, handing one to him from my belt. “Sorry, it may not taste too good.”

“Unlike my draughts, they do not taste like death, my lady.” He grins. “How you make them actually taste delightful will forever be a mystery.” 

“Depends on what the ingredients are. Honey, mint, juniper; they can mess up potions if paired with ingredients they react with, but generally there’s some sort of flavoring you can put in that won’t change the potion effect.”

“Did you study at the college?”

“I don’t think I was at the college long enough to say I did.” I shrug.

“Didn’t find it your place, or…?”

“The Dragonborn blood complicated things.” I roll my eyes. “As it generally does.”

“I see.” He says thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “It certainly must be difficult to make lasting friends.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I smirk. “The ones that don’t stab your back are especially rare.” Casavir pauses at my words, looking back to Bishop. 

“I can only imagine.” Cas says. 

“Hey!” Bishop growls, catching up so he can walk to my right. “Sorry to ruin your little stroll, but I’m here too.”

“Trust me Bishop, we didn’t forget you were there. The smell was a big tip off.” 

“That’d be you.”

“Bishop!” Cas snaps.

“It’s fine, Cas. I  _ have  _ travelled with him for nearly a year.”

“A year?” Cas says. “Impressive. Anyone lesser would have pushed him off a cliff by now.”

“I’ve been tempted, Paladin.” I smirk.

“I am  _ right here! _ ” He protests. “And it isn’t like travelling with you has been all roses, Ladyship. Trying to help everyone you meet, nearly getting yourself killed once or twice…”

“I would have come out alright.” I say defiantly.

“Would not.”

“Name one.” 

“Most recently, the wisp.” He says, crossing his arms. “You’re silent, Rowan~”

“Fine, I’ll give you that one.” I roll my eyes.

“And before that was the Ch-” He freezes, clearing his throat. I feel my eyes cast downward sending a quick flash of memory through me. “Sorry.”

“No, no...you’re right.” I sigh, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and remaking it. “That…” I swear softly, shaking my head. “Definitely...needed help on that one.”

Bishop clears his throat, looking away. The Paladin must be so confused...

…

“No...there’s no way conjuration acts like water. That wouldn’t explain half of its properties.” I shake my head. Casavir and I have been having an intense discussion about magic for some time now. Bishop’s still beside me looking more and more dejected by the minute. 

“But it does explain how you would be able to form it so differently. All atronachs look the same, but with the bound weapons, you have much more creative liberties.” Casavir explains, doing his best with his hands to explain his point. 

“That makes no sense.” I shake my head at his notion. “I just don’t think we have the understanding to fit conjuration into a neat little box. It’s more volatile than the other schools, and it’s more expansive than we can comprehend right now.” 

“Perhaps you’re right…” He sighs. “I’ve just been reading up on the matter, and this is the first chance I’ve gotten to discuss it with a true scholar. The mages in the Vigilance all only care about restoration.” 

I summon a dagger to my hands, looking at it curiously. “You’re correct, though. No other magic makes something real. Destruction makes energy, illusion changes what’s real, restoration mends it…” I pause. “Would it be closer to shadow magic, then?”

“I…” He pauses. “Rowan, I believe you’re a genius.”

“Wouldn’t say that. Just well read.” I think about it for a moment. “It’d certainly make sense, though. Shadows can be used to make the shadowgates or the weapons that come thereof. It’d make sense if they were related.”

“It would also explain the origin, too.” He ponders that for a few moments. “You need to accompany me to High Rock, once this vampire crisis slows down.” 

“Got a place in mind?”

“I wanted to look into the ancient restoration arts, since I’ve learned they’ve been warped somewhat, and that tied my search to the conjuration in High Rock. There are some ruins which may prove enlightening to us.”

“Near Orsinium?”

“Correct...how did you know?”

“I’m from Wayrest.” 

“Really? As am I!”

“It is a huge city, after all. This doesn’t really surprise me.” I grin. “Though it is nice to find someone else from there. Which side of town?”

“My house was near the north clocktower.” He smiles, remembering our fair-weathered homeland. “I could always see the sunrise when I was very small, before I came here. Where were you?”

“I can’t remember, frankly. Somewhere near the markets.” I sigh, trying to think. “Though I’d be happy to accompany you.” I hear Bishop growl from beside me. He had been quiet this entire time. “What? See something?”

“Yeah. Our destination.” He says flatly. “Alright Paladin, here’s your stop.”

“Bishop, we can help him.” I sigh. “Why are you so opposed to this? It isn’t like we’re afraid of some vampires.”

“Ladyship, we finished what we came here to do. Can’t we just get out of here for once?”

“What else are we going to do? Hell, best I got is another dragon bounty.”

“I can certainly think of other things to do…” He says smugly. That bastard-! Not in front of the Paladin! “Hey, Casavir. Did you know-”

I tackle him to the ground, pinning him under me with a forearm and covering his mouth before he can say anything else. 

“ **_Not a word_ ** .” I growl. He smirks from underneath me, tilting his head back smugly and staring at me with narrowed eyes. I sigh, looking over to Casavir. “Listen, I…”

“Nope!” He breaks free from my grasp, flipping me over and landing myself safely under him, pinned down by his hands laced with mine. His knee in between my legs make it much harder to kick him, and of course now my entire damn body is pressed under him. 

“Let her go, Bishop!” Casavir protests, grabbing Bishop’s shoulder to try and wrench him off. Bishop ignores him, dipping down and lightly taking my lips. Casavir stumbles back as if he’d been struck. The surprise makes me quit fighting, and he chuckles once he notices I’ve stopped struggling. 

“ _ I’m not going to let you get away, Rowan… _ ” He mutters in my ear, smirking at how red I’ve become. Dammit Ranger, not in front of the Paladin! 

He finally releases me, kneeling on the ground in front of me as I lay with my face covered, trying to hide myself by just covering my eyes. Gods, really!? Bishop, I swear I’m going to kick your sorry behind back into oblivion…! 

“Get the gist? Paladin, sorry, but she’s not going anywhere without me.” He says, rising to his feet. Cas must be morbid…! “And you certainly aren’t taking her anywhere.”

“Bishop...you…” Casavir’s clearly angry. His eyes are locked on me still lying on the ground, and I’m not in the mood to move or speak. 

“Come on Casavir, are you blind? It’s not the fact that I kissed her. It’s the fact that you’re here to witness it.” I can’t see but I know his stupid face looks smug. The talk on the way here must have made the Ranger jealous, but he was probably itching to make the paladin uncomfortable as soon as possible. “Now then… shall we head inside?”

I roll to my feet, slowly bringing my hand away from my face. “I thought you didn’t want to go in.”

“Well I changed my mind.” He’s still grinning. 

“ _ I’ll get you back for this… _ ” I hiss.

“ _ I’d like to see you try. _ ” He mutters back. The ranger isn’t going to see a thing. My fist meets his cheek faster than he can lay eyes on my swing, staggering him back. He still grins despite it all, though. 

“We...um…” Casavir looks to me, glaring at nothing in the distance. “We should see if the others are here. We agreed to meet at the west side of the fort.”

“So the setting sun would make sure they wouldn’t find you. Clever.” I comment, looking around. 

“We do have a system at this point.” Casavir says, finally losing his dour look. He ignores Bishop and instead looks to me, tilting his head to the fading light. “Shall we? I can introduce you, of course.” 


	44. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't much, but here's a small update! I've been busy lately, so I haven't been writing as much. Hopefully things slow down soon!

Casavir still eyed Bishop over with more resent than before as we circled around to the front, eventually meeting with Halfi and, to my surprise, the injured old man from before. The two of them stood behind a large jagged boulder that shielded them from being seen, and by what I could see, they’re fighting. Casavir leads us to them, his presence barely being noticed as the old man bickered to Halfi in a one-sided rant.

“Excuse us,” Casavir dips his head as he enters the quarrel. “Halfi? Tulgruff?” 

“Ye? What of it’?” The old man swung, then noticed who spoke. He straightened as soon as Casavir’s kind eyes looked at him, as if he had been shocked. 

“Well, it seems like we’re still missing one.” He breathes.

“Serrin was diverted last minute,” Halfi explains. All at once she notices me and Bishop, and her eyes sparkle and she gives a deep nod to us, along with a smirk. “It’s just you an’ me, Cas.”

“And me!” Bartrun barks. His yew bow was gripped in his hands. 

“You’re injured, Sir.” Casavir says gently. “Let us handle it. The four of us will be enough.” Bartrun grunts angrily, walking forward past Cas and in front of me and Bishop. Bishop mutters something under his breath as he steps forward to meet him; something about paying him back for the inn, but he speaks first.

“And what are  _ they  _ doing here?” He sneers. “We’re the vigilants. If you’re so  _ weak  _ as to ask help from these spineless hotheads, then I think you’re due for an early retirement.” 

“Spineless?” Bishop hisses. Not him.

“Hothead?” I ask. Perhaps Bishop, but I don’t really fit the description.

“Excuse you?” Cas towers above the man, masking his rage with a placid face. Like a dam holding back millions of tons of water from crushing something back to the atomic level.

“You heard me.” Bartrun says, quieter this time. “Now. Why don’t we eat, and then the three of us can go inside?”

“I don’t know how your years of wisdom have treated you, but you are not exemplifying what the vigilants stand for. These people offer their assistance to a problem we struggle with. You should bow down and give your thanks, not reject their kindness!” He scolds, eyes narrowing in a pitying way. 

“They’ll just get eaten, or turned into a thrall! The less the better. I don’t want the vampires getting their hands on any cadavers.”

“Do you know who stands in front of you? Pay your respect to the Dragonborn, and mind your words. You’d sooner end up as a body.” Casavir warns. It seems he detests stubbornness. Explains his past with Bishop. At least that line seemed to hold some weight. His eyes grow slightly wider from their wrinkled sockets, and he stares at Bishop for a few moments.

“Apologies, Dragonborn.” He tells the Ranger.

“ **Zuun...Haal Viik!** ” I shout at the man, as gently as I can manage. His bow pops out of his hands and to my own, and I nock a summoned arrow on the string and fire into the sky. A hawk tumbles down blindly a few feet away. The group is dead silent as I walk over to the fallen bird of prey, tossing it to Bartrun’s feet with no emotion. “There you go. We’ll go inside. You sate your hunger and heal.”

“I…” He starts.

“It’s going to be night soon.” Halfi pushes past him. “Should we wait until tomorrow, Dragonborn?” 

“Well it is spring. I’d say we have a few hours.” I argue. “We’re much too far from Falkreath to head back. I don’t like the idea of camping here.”

“I’m sorry my lady, but Halfi may have a point. Even underground, vampires are weaker during the day. The hounds will likely be asleep as well. We should spend the night nearby.”  
“I don’t like it.” Bishop decides. “If we’re going anywhere, it should be back north, down the mountain.”

“That doesn’t seem logical to me.” Halfi says. “We’d be better on higher ground.”

“Or me.” Bartrun recovers from the embarrassment I put him through. It seemed to have pushed him down a couple notches. Score!

“My gut says to go in.” I repeat. “But...you are the vampire hunters.”

“Vampire hunters or not, I still say we go down the damn mountain.” Bishop swings his weight to his hip, bringing himself to his full height. “Me and Rowan will go down, you guys go up. Sound fair?”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere alone with her, Bishop.” Casavir sneers, taking a step towards him. Bishop’s hand darts to his hip, gripping his dagger instead of the sword at his other side. Cas grabs his greatsword in retaliation, staring each other down.

“Um...Rowan?” Halfi asks.

“They have bad blood; I’m just the excuse.” I sigh. “You two; quit it.”

“Rowan-!” Bishop looks to me. I hook him by the collar, tugging him backwards and switching my arm so it’s wrapped around his shoulder. 

“Excuse the knucklehead.” I force him to bow slightly. “Paladin, don’t be so defensive.”

“My...apologies. I just…” He sighs. “I’ll speak with you in private.”

“Like hell you will.” Bishop growls. I make him bow deeper.

“Quit it. We’ll camp out where you say. If you believe we should camp higher, then we’ll leave it to you experts.”

“As it should be.” Bartrun grunts.

“I should also point out that the bitter old man has contributed  _ nothing  _ to this conversation except remarks.” I stare him down. “In which case, he’s cordially invited to actually start adding his own ideas and power instead of making snarky comments.”

“Why you…!” He growls.

“Why I what?” 

“Seems the position has gone to your head.” He comments.

“I respect everyone equally unless they give me a reason not to.” I keep my expression neutral, as much as I want to scowl at him. He’s becoming a nuisance. “Now then. Halfi, where did you want to camp?”

“There’s a shelter north, not too far.” She points to one of the spires reaching above the treeline. “I saw it on my way here.” 

“I see.” I look over. “Bishop?”

“Fine.” He says, still not buying it. It’s going to be one long night if he doesn’t decide to stop being childish. Where we camp won’t make a bit of difference. What will lead to disaster is if we’re caught here in the dark. 

“Lead on.” I nod to Halfi. 

…

“Bartrun...what the hell are you cooking!?” Halfi half shrieks.

“The dragonborn shot down the hawk, an’ I’m going to eat it!” He says, trying to explain the bubbling mass in the cauldron. 

“You could have added some water first!” She reaches in with a stick, poking the fried bird. “How the hell is it bubbling like that?”

“Seasoning.” He replies. “Now who’s hungry!?”

“It…” Casavir pauses at the edge of the fire, peering into the pot. “I believe I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not either.” I agree, reaching my hand behind my back. Bishop’s already eating food from our pack, and at my motion presses a loaf of bread into my palm.

“ _ Thanks.”  _ I whisper.

“ _ Are we sure he isn’t a necromancer?”  _ He mutters to me. 

“ _ Dunno. Is animal cruelty still applicable _ ?”

“No, unfortunately.” Casavir says. He doesn’t really get the whole whispering thing. 

“Unfortunately  **WHAT** ?” Bartrun turns around, seeing us eating our normal food. “Hey!”

“Cas…” I sigh. 

“Somehow, this pisses me off more than the sleeping thing.” Bishop declares flatly. “Old guy, we aren’t eating your cooking. You’re worse than an orc. Not to mention your nose has been dripping onto it without your notice for about five minutes.” Halfi giggles from her post up on the rock, tipping her mead bottle our way in thanks. 

“Sorry Bartrun, but it honestly looks like an interesting way to commit suicide to me.” She adds in. “Now, how are we dealing out watches?”

“I ain’t doin’ any!” Bartrun yells. 

“And we don’t expect you to.” Casavir soothes. 

“I can take it.” I pipe up.

“First or second?” Halfi asks from her position.

“Both. Or either if someone really wants to.”

“Are...you crazy?” She looks to Bishop next to me. “Both? Rowan, there’s a  _ lot  _ of vampires…” 

“I slept in today,” I protest. “And you three are weary from travelling. Cas especially.” I look over to him. He tries to stay vigilant (in both ways), but even with his attempt he still looks exhausted. When he blinks it’s as if his eyelids are fighting to stay closed, and he masks his yawns well. He trudged the same distance as us, but with armor many times heavier. He deserves a full night. 

“You aren’t staying up all night.” Bishop snaps. “I don’t want to have to haul you through the fortress. You hear me?”

“When have you ever had to do that?” I raise an eyebrow. “Calm down.”

“Don’t your legs hurt?” Bishop asks. I see his breath catch. What’s with that?

“No, I feel great, actually.” I reassure him. “Legs don’t hurt one bit. Stendarr must have finally caught up to me.”

“Yeah.” He looks off at the surrounding forest. “I still don’t like this at all.”

“I’ll take first watch. It’ll be okay, Bishop.” Halfi says, pulling her sword into her lap.

“Listen to elven me.” I assure him, patting his forearm gently. I was about to volunteer for second watch when Bishop beats me to it, raising his hand and saying a quick ‘Aye’ before Halfi can even ask the question.

“It’d make me feel better.” He says when I look at him questioningly. 

“If you’re sure. If you feel like switching, just wake me up.” I pull out my things, releasing my hair from my braid and pouring water onto a washcloth for my face. I spread out my bedroll, tucking myself inside and closing my eyes slowly as I feel Bishop grab my hand, pulling it towards him and leaving our fingers intertwined as the pressure fades. 

…

**Casavir**

“Calm down, righteousness. I think it’s cute.” Halfi chimes from the rock, eyes directly on what’s causing me great concern. Rowan, the dragonborn...holding hands with that man. And what happened before…  It makes my blood boil. He doesn’t deserve happiness; not with what he’s done. Second chances aside, someone with that much blood on their hands should be left to repent on their own. If he was actually sorry for what he’s done, he’d bring himself to the fringe of society, and wouldn’t allow himself any pleasure while he atoned. Yet here he is, pompously grabbing everything he can and pretending it’s acceptable now that he doesn’t massacre whoever that man points at. I can’t recall his face or name. To do so would mean risking his delicate balance, and I’d rather shove my sword through me than have that happen. I’d found the Gods, I’d righted my sins, and now I was pushing forward. But Bishop received his with no work. Sure, Rowan kept him from exhibiting his wrath, but he hadn’t changed in the slightest. 

The wolf hadn’t been tamed. Only collared.

“Rowan deserves to be happy. I understand that. But…”

“You don’t want it to be him.”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why?” She jumps down, sauntering over. “Bad blood? Or are  _ you  _ interested?”

“No-no! Nothing like that.” I sigh, fiddling with the potion bottle at my belt. “We’re celibate. It isn’t possible.”

“So you’ve thought about it.” She smirks. “Hey, everyone gets one roll in the grass-”

“That’s vulgar.” I snap, displeased. Halfi should know better. Though she’s one of the refugee children taken in by the vigilants, so she’s in no way bound to this life. She’s looking for her life, I understand that. But have some tact! “I haven’t. It’s just…”

“You still have nightmares about him.” She says, hitting the nail on the head. “I can hear you talking at night. So you’re afraid.”

“I am not afraid. I am  _ concerned _ .” I clarify. 

“Cassidy, I’ve only been your partner for a few months. But I can still tell when you aren’t saying the whole truth.”

“I do not lie.”

“Yes, but even a Paladin can bend the truth a bit,” She pushes. “You fear him.” Is she right? I don’t fear Bishop. Though his prowess in combat is at a level where he can fight on the same grounds as the Dragonborn, as fierce as she is. The dragon earlier today had shocked me into incompetence. It was embarrassing. I pushed my fear into my gut and swung at its legs, but once it took towards me, I just froze. Only Rowan’s voice shrieking for me to ward saved my life. If I had been hit by the full extent of that blast...I can’t begin to understand how quickly or painfully I would have died. 

Meanwhile, Bishop and Rowan...they covered so well for each other. I can only hope I find someone I fight that well with. Bishop covers the long range, blocking any attempts to do anything sporadic against the strong dragonborn, who engages at close combat. The dragon couldn’t do anything but get hit between them. When it ignored Rowan and tried to focus on the Ranger, Rowan received a clear area to keep slicing at. And when it snapped at Rowan, Bishop plunged an arrow into whatever exposed flesh the action gave him. Lashing out with its jaws gave it an arrow wedged under a facial scale, and turning to blast at Bishop gave it a sliced ligament. 

Rowan is a descendent of the Gods. Akatosh stands behind her full force; I can sense that myself. Stendarr stands with her too, but his presence is weakening for a reason that nags my psyche. And Bishop, endorsed by no one, stands next to her.

Now that his stubbornness gave way and he has new equipment, his ability to fight may have increased. Sure, six years ago his pieces were new and were perfect for his style; but his blade dulled and weakened, only to be thinned down by a whetstone, and that armor of his stretched and pulled and tore. It took away from his abilities. But now he has a blade tempered by the Dragonborn, and armor fit to how he fights. He’s only going to get better. Rowan’s too smart for her own good; sharpening the claws of her pet wolf to perfection, using techniques she created. The girl figured if she has the ability, she should use it.

I have fought with Bishop many times. I knew his arm’s length by heart, and I knew his temper was much shorter than his reach. Many wounds on my ribs were attributed to the man, as well as the one that crossed my chin. They had faded; my skin shed them over time, but the terror came not from the fact that I had received them; it was the different emotions that brought them on.

I had sparred with him in a friendly manner oftentimes , and gotten one or two. Another time he lashed out at me at frustration; add another one to the count. 

The other multitude came from a single instance when I tried to hold him back. He was plastered from stolen wine in a fort we had taken, with a permanent scowl on his face as he ransacked the hold. Three of us had taken the hold from the odd fifteen people who lay inside, and only two total exited the walls once the day ended because his greed.

We’re both paranoid drunks who like to fight when they’ve had too much; something I hate sharing with him. The vigilants don’t require abstaining from alcohol, but I strictly do so to keep on the safe side. If I were to get into that state again, I’m perfectly willing to jump off off Bard’s Leap Summit. 

“I’m not afraid of him,” I force myself to look over to where the two lay. She’s shrank back into her usual sleeping habits, but he still clings to her hand, keeping it in his grasp. He’s done nothing to gain so much. And while he seems marginally humbled, take Rowan away from the situation, and he’s back to instincts. But she looks so peaceful next to him; she’d trust the man with her life. “I’m afraid for her.”

“Give it a rest. He can’t be that bad.”

“He is.”

“Then tell me why.”

“Halfi, apologies, but you know I can’t.”

“Fine. When you can, then.”

…

“Bishop?” I hear Halfi rile him from his sleep. I’ve become a light sleeper over the years, but normally would roll and continue my snooze. But I actually wish to talk to the Ranger alone. I stay away from the ring of the dying fire, and can see his and Rowan’s outline against the fading coals, like a reverse sunset. He slowly makes it to his knees, pausing there as Halfi says a few words to him about the night, and nods as she leaves to return to her own comfy bedroll. He fixes his pants and steps out of his bedroll, but still kneels near the fire for some reason.

He fidgets with his hand before gently placing Rowan’s back in her bag, sighing from relief and stretching. He downs some water and quietly stalks to the small boulder Halfi was on, swinging himself over and staring off into the distance, thinking about something as his new boots slowly scrape against the granite.

“Nice night,” I comment from my place behind him. He doesn’t jump despite my stealth. “No really, it is.”

“What do you want?” He doesn’t even turn my way; just speaks to the darkness of the forest. That’s a good question. 

“What are you thinking?” I look back to Rowan, who has just flipped over to her stomach. “What happened to Bishop, the lady-killer? Bishop, who’d never settle down? Bishop, who loves no one but his image? Who took orders from no one, and would slice up those who disagreed?”

“Paladin, really. Can you leave me alone? I’d really appreciate it. I'm supposed to be on watch. Don't distract me.” He still doesn’t face me. “I’m too tired for this. Go back to sleep. If you get injured, Rowan will need to waste time healing you.”

“No, you’ll speak to me yet. You and me. For old times.” I insist. But I try a new approach; as much as it pains me, I keep my anger in check. I drop the rage. I just want to know how he did it. The nightmares, the dreams, the voices. He isn’t tortured by it.

“...Fine.” He says at last, picking up a stick and slowly whittling it with his knife. His sword and armor lay with his pack behind us. 

“Why are you back in Skyrim? You fled to Morrowind.” I come outright. 

“I stayed in Balmora for a week and came back. I like the forests here.” He says casually, chipping notches into the stick. “Now I got a question for you, Paladin. Is all of this because of Gallow’s Rock?” He motions to the air as if that explains things. It doesn’t. 

“Clarify yourself.” I walk next to the rock, leaning onto it to try and break some of the stiffness from my joints. 

“Did you go through your little epiphany after what...you know.” He sighs. “I’m not saying it twice.” 

“Little epiphany? You mean the thing I realized when I figured out I was a desensatized mess with a violent drunkard for a friend!?” I start to roar, unfurling to my full height to tower above Bishop on the rock, but his quick look over to the firepit makes me hush myself. Rowan, Bartrun, and Halfi sleep on.

“I was in the same boat! Could have damn helped me out too, instead of ditching me for the guards to find!”

“They...found you?” I pause. I thought he escaped to Falkreath.

“I got thrown into that damn prison on the Darkwater river.” He says bitterly, turning away from me to stare back into the forest. “Only reason I got out was because the whole thing flooded.” He crosses his arms, glaring. “Meanwhile, you were having your little ‘revelation’ about truth. Having done so by first  _ lying to your friend _ . You said you were going to scout ahead. Instead you told the damn imperials where I was and bought out your bounty!”  

“You weren’t a friend.” I say bitterly. I know many things that can attest against his statement. “Alis would back me up on that, by the way.” 

“Casavir, shut the fuck up.” He says quietly.

“Oh, don’t like being reminded?” I say back, just as bitterly. “You would have gotten me too if I wasn’t already suspicious. Then who would remind you? Certainly not him! Not after he was six feet under, Bishop!” In the dark and in my own state of weariness I don’t see him plant his feet under him, pushing off the rock and tackling me to the ground. I give out an angry grunt as my vision blurs once we hit the ground, and I feel a punch roll across my cheek as Bishop’s fist skids across my face.

“Bastard!” Bishop swears, his amber eyes alight in the darkness above me. He moves in for another swing when his eyesight shifts to his side, and he’s forcibly thrown off of me. Bishop tumbles to the ground, rolling over his shoulder and swinging to his feet, looking to the source. “The hell!?”

“Bishop, we have bigger problems…!” I throw the vampire off me, holding my hands about me as I summon what little fire magic I know. 

“You think, Paladin!?” He gets distance between him and the hooded figure, trying to get to his things. “Get your weapons! What about the others!?”

I look towards the firepit, laying eyes on six figures. My breath catches at what I see. Bartrun is held down by a female vampire, Halfi is restrained by a male, and Rowan still battles for her freedom from a higher ranking vampire. But I swear I feel the air shift from around the fire...

“Rowan!” I call, motioning to my bedroll. I need my sword! 

She gets the message, slowly losing ground on purpose to edge herself near my things. After a wide swing she makes a break for it, grabbing my sword and chucking it over to me. It lands a few meters away, but it’s a start.

I stare down the vampire in front of me. He has red trimmed black robes, and his glimmering eyes reveal nothing about him. He says nothing, only looks to me, waiting for me to move. He’s between me and my things. Past his shoulder I watch Rowan dance with the bloodsucker, keeping him at bay for the time being. 

I imitate her, clashing with the vampire in front of me and trying to control the shiver that’s in my spine. Bishop’s disappeared somewhere. Did he run? No; he wouldn’t. ...Would he? Rowan’s here. Surely he wouldn’t abandon her. 

As I’m looking, a solid blow hits me in the stomach, and I ignore the pain to fight on for a few more seconds. The vampire slows down, and my sword rips through him like paper as I fight with my rage, slowly conquering it and turning it to my advantage. It’d taken me years to get to where I could openly control myself, and this is the result. The blood sprays away from me, bits hitting my armor and sliding down the chrome, and the thing limps into the dirt. But as I do, another trickle of red catches my eye; Rowan waltzes with a seventh vampire on a much more intimate level. The one she was originally fighting lay at her feet, but this one...

He holds her up, drinking from the spring of her neck deeply. Her head rolls on her shoulder, the vampire peering over her collarbone to me, freezing me in my tracks.

“My lady!” I cry, adjusting the grip I have on my sword and rushing forward. He drops her body and she stumbles back, meticulously keeping her balance as the vampire disappears, turning invisible and slinking away in the darkness. I barely reach her as her knees collapse, delivering her into my arms. 

“Cas...but…” She mumbles, trying to resist my help.

“Stay down, Rowan, stay down.” I say quietly, resting her on her bedroll nearby. As I gently settle her head I feel the two puncture marks, and the black spindles that web around it denote she’s contracted the disease. I’d rip my hands away, but the guilt forces me to stay, keeping me there at her side. Distracting her by asking for my blade had consequences. She mumbles something else, and her hand shuffles around, looking for something to hold. I offer my hand, and her small palm weakly grasps three of my fingers. 

She squeezes it gently. I will be a replacement for him if it provides some solace. As for the others… I don’t know what’s become of them. Bishop’s gone, as is Halfi, and Bartrun…

Bless his soul. I can see his body, blood stained and crumpled, discarded half on his bed roll. May Stendarr give him safe passage. Rowan managed to fend them off for long enough so they couldn’t take her, but the others are either dead or have been taken back to the throne. A sneak attack… they could probably smell us from the wind travelling down the mountain, and while this place offers protection from the cold, it’s the other invisible markings that indicate we’re here that did this to us.

“Ho͟w͜ d̢oe͠s̕ ̵it feel̷, P͘a͜ladin? ̴”

“Who are you!?” I stand, planting myself over Rowan and angling my blade, ready to block whatever. The voice was so close to me… “Demon! Show yourself!”

“Casavir?” Rowan croaks from under me, slowly trying to sit up. 

“My lady! Stay down; there’s something near-”

“It’s gone, Cas...” She says, clutching the side of her head. Her fingers trail down to her neck, just above the collarbone, and she feels the smooth holes near her jugular. “Oh Gods…!”

“I’m sorry…” I kneel down, looking to the wound. “I will cleanse you. Please stay still. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

“Where are the others? What the hell happened? What happened to the watch!? Where’s Bishop and Halfi!?” She says, exasperated. My stomach sinks. Bishop would have caught them if I hadn’t riled him; this attack was solely on my shoulders. And it cost Bartrun’s life, and possibly that of my partner...and Bishop. She keeps her fingers on her bite mark, slowly losing her calm. “Cas...I-I-!”

“Rowan, calm down…!” I kneel down, placing my hand on her collarbone. I feel her heart beat faster, and her breathing catches and comes in ragged gasps, and she clings to my arm as I support her back. The disease is attacking her, and she’s been reduced to this mess. Her skin heats up as her body tries to fight it, but it’ll lose; there’s no way for the body to rid itself from a direct injection. Why did that vampire infect her and leave her here? He could have just as easily taken her like the others! 

“Cas…!” She gasps, the poison locking her muscles and freezing her joints as the curse spreads. 

“Rowan, do your best to keep still, it will be over in a moment!” I place my hand over the mark, slowly pushing magic in. 

Once again it bounced back to me, stinging my palm like a mass of nettles. I draw it away as if I’d been bitten by an asp, chewing on my lip and figuring what the do. The shadow blocks my warm light; a wall of purplish black blocking my gold. 

I ̕w͟o̶n't l̨et you rui͡n t͝h̕is.͜ S̻̫̻̖t̠̞̱͎͙͍͔o͘p͇͇͡.͝

I draw my hand away, hearing the voice ring out in my own head this time. It gives out a short bark of a laugh, disappearing into nothing. 

“Rowan…” I breathe, staring down at her taut body. Her breathing is laboured and she’s begun to lose her color. She’ll progress into a full fledged vampire in a day; this is just the prerequisite. It’s claiming her body, using her blood to extend to all reaches, and it’ll dig into her muscles and fully turn her. “What have you done?”

I bite my lip harder, feeling the skin break and a hot line of red drags down my chin. I can only spectate as she slips asleep, brought under by Molag Bal’s blight. I replay the scene in my mind, looking for some sort of cause for this...but I know it’s the same as what happened in the cave. Something in her is blocking my healing arts. Something either she’s unaware of or something she doesn’t want anyone to know about. 

But that seventh vampire must have known. It was of a different breed than the others; the master vampire. A pureblood that controls the others. He wouldn’t risk himself, but he needed to get to Rowan for some reason… Gods, it makes him sick to think of the thing waiting, invisible, with his eyes on Rowan as she fights, waiting for his comrade to die so he can take her by surprise. 

Does he wish to control the Dragonborn? Is it for something else? Is she a chess piece on Molag Bal’s board? Every daedra’s eyes are on her from their different planes, but as far as I know, she doesn’t associate with any. Only Azura, and...as far as I know, I think she only did it for the star. 

“How...bad is it?” She manages to breathe out, chuckling for a moment. Her trembling had stopped, but she’s still grown pale.

“...”

“You can’t lie to me.” She smirks, but it turns into a grimace. “Tell me, Casavir…” She tries to sit up, but I keep her laying down; I chew my lip more. Do I tell her? What do I do? 

“I…”

“Casavir.”

“My lady...you’re so far gone already.” I heave out a sigh, my eyebrows knit. “It was a pureblood, and considering how quick you’re reacting…”

“He must be a favorite.” She coughs, leaning her head back. “Where did the others go?” She swallows, trying to calm herself. She closes her eyes, placing a hand on her mark.

“They must have been taken to the throne. But Bartrun…” 

“I know. I know, and I’m so sorry...” She says. “Cas, help me sit up.” She tries to pull herself to a sitting position, but it takes my help to let her balance outright, and she crosses her legs stiffly under her for support. “Someone’s trying to mess with me here...and I don’t intend to let them do it.”

“My lady…”

“I’m sorry for you having to see me panic. I don’t know what happened to me.” She swallows, opening her eyes and turning her head to the side. She braced, pulsing magic into her, and the black webbing around her bite mark halts and shrinks a bit, being contained by a golden ring on her skin. “I can stop it...but I can’t heal it like you. We can deal with this later. We need to get our partners back, and give ‘em hell for Bartrun.”

“While I agree with you…” I think it over, hanging my head. If we kill the vampire who did this to her, the curse will fade and she’ll return to normal. But only if it happens before she turns. That gives us less than twenty-four hours. Not enough time to get more people here, or to even get any help from Falkreath, not that they would. “Fine. But please…”

“This...doesn’t phase me, Cas.” She tenses her legs, shakily getting to her feet. “Hell, my legs used to hurt more than this. It’s nothing to me.”

“I’m glad you aren’t in anguish, my lady, but you’re slowly turning...you must be careful!”

“If it comes down to it, Cas, another Dragonborn can finish things here.” She fixes her armor, stamping out the fire and gathering her and Bishop’s things. She abandons their bedrolls and grabs her bag, slinging it onto her back and drinking a cure disease, as if it would help. It would against a normal vampire, but this direct connection is too strong for any poultice or concoction. The source needs to be plucked. “Seems like they really want us to go in and meet them. I’m sure we can oblige.”


	45. A Paladin and a Wolf Walk into a Bar...And It Went A Bit like this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went from being mean to Bishop to being evil to Casavir. If you like angsty tensions (be honest), you'll be pleased with this installment. Things are going to be pretty intense for the next few chapters, so look forward to it! Enjoy guys!

“My lady, I’m relieved to see the affliction hadn’t taken away your strength.” I step over the bodies; three vampires who couldn’t move away from her quick enough. The entryway proved barely troublesome to the Dragonborn, as if by second nature. Her stern face is fierce as she looks into the low light of the rest of the fortress, as if it’s only an obstacle that consumes her time.

“Where do you think they’re being kept?” She asks.

“Probably in the ice tunnels. It would not surprise me if there was a sprawling basement in addition to these two floors.” I say. “Do not worry, I’m sure the two of them are alright. Perhaps a bit jostled-”

“I’d still want to reach them as fast as possible, Cas.” She cuts me off bluntly. “But thanks for the reassurance.”

“I...I’m so sorry, my lady.” He pauses. “I suppose you are correct. But-”

“But you don’t want to save Bishop.” She finishes for me, though I swear that isn’t how I meant it. “When we found Halfi, you can turn tail and run, then. I’ll burn this place to the ground alone.”

“That isn’t what I meant-!” I defend myself. The confusion and conflict in myself heightens after her reaction. Did losing Bishop throw her off? But she’s usually calm, collected, and kind. Rowan, even without him, would be the same. This is not how Rowan usually acts...is it the vampirism? I don’t know, and I can’t tell.

“Sure, Cas.” She stoops down to pull rings off the vampire’s body, glaring at me over her shoulder. “You know, I can tell when you look at him if I left you two alone, you’d stab him through. I honestly can’t believe you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t notice you’re itching to end him.” 

“That isn’t true, my lady, please…” 

“What’s the bad blood between you two anyway!?” She snaps angrily, punching the wall next to her heavily to help her get up. “Honestly! Like two God damn kids!”

“...I’m sorry you see it that way; I wish our quarrel didn’t affect you.” I say quietly. “But Rowan, please hear me out…”

“Why? So you can tell me some bullshit that makes him look like the daedra’s manifestation? Mehrune’s second coming? No thanks, Paladin. I think I’m good!” She fumes, rubbing her head. Her hands fidget around her face as she walks forward into the next room, empty. A hearth’s coals are the only source of light, and despite the dark she maneuvers around the room with ease. She glides across the floor as I bump into a few objects, rubbing my sore hip where it hit a table. I fall silent and follow her, masking my footsteps as she leads me through the fort with nearly second-nature like reflexes. She avoids an old door trap with ease, scampering across and holding it firmly so it doesn’t swing, letting me pass through. 

We reach another vampire, waiting in a cluster of coffins. She kills him without hesitation, fire reducing him to smolders. Inspection of the coffins reveal bodies neatly packed away, for who knows what; but it doesn’t faze her. She walks passed them and into the hallway. 

As she goes to walk forward I see her stumble a bit, as if she had forgotten how to walk for just a moment, and she totters precariously and leans against the wall. She supports her weight barely, her chest heaving as she slowly slides down, relieving her muscles as she sinks to the ground. I hear a slow and choked gasp escape her, like she had been fighting to keep silent for some time. 

“My lady!” I rush over to help, pulling her steady gently and leaning her on me for support. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry for earlier, Cas…” She starts, her eyes closed. “I don’t feel like myself right now.”

“I understand. Are you still fit to go on? We can rest for a time…”

“No, we need to keep going.” She steadies herself on her own power, standing independent of me. “The sooner we find them the better. Now where could they be held…”  

“I…” I had already told her. The innermost keep. That’s how these places work, anyway. Didn’t she remember? “Rowan, I don’t mean to pry… is there something other than the vampirism?” She freezes in my arms, slowly looking away and into the keep. 

“No, Cas. I just…” She feels her cheeks. “I guess it’s the fever.” 

“I see.”  I let go of her. “Then please take care, my lady. I can feel more through the hold.”

“I’ll get it.” She summons a bow quietly, still on the ground. She uses it to get to her feet, walking down the hallway with less grace than before and nudging open the door. She fires a single arrow and I hear the quiet gurgles of death, though more human this time, echo through the hall. We enter to see a pseudo-dwelling, with a table with unrecognizable food on it. Rowan grabs a few soul gems and potions off the wall, and returns to my side. 

“ **_Laas_ ** !” She whispers. “Two faint lights ahead, but I think it’s the main hall. Be careful. Let me shoot the two at the table.”

“I’m starting to feel like a sword and a sneak archer are a bad pairing…” I say, and she chuckles quietly and tries to silence herself. I pause to listen to the rare sound, enjoying the noise; like a gem of happiness in a long draught. For the dignified and strong image I have of her, it was strangely feminine. With the current crisis, is was good to have a brief sojourn from this hell.

“What’s an even worse pairing is the clanky armor, Paladin.” She points to my armor once again.

“...I apologize… Halfi and I...we both…” I try to whisper like her. Halfi and I are both heavily armored, preferring our swords to be closer to slabs of metal than butter knives. 

“It’s fine, Paladin.” She crouches, steadying her hand and bringing a second arrow to her palm to fire it faster. The first flies off her bow, flexing mid-air, and before it’s hit the second is in motion. The two hit their targets in rapid succession, and the fledglings fall with little noise. We stride in, much more confident this time, and inspect the room.

It was where the fort tapers out into ice; this large ice cave housed catwalk bridges and scaffolding along the right wall. On a platform above sits a a cage, and I can see the blood covering the rust, freshly red on the blackened iron.

Is it Halfi or Bishop…?

I can’t help it. I pray it’s the latter. But Rowan… but Halfi…

“Paladin?” She asks, grabbing my shoulder. “What is it…?” She follows my gaze. “Oh no.”

“You said...there were two souls in here…” My gaze unwillingly falls to the two grotesque women on the floor. Beautiful once, their bodies have been twisted by the affliction. Their skin was ashen white and cloaked in black robes to block the light from themselves. Their canines, unnaturally large, protruded from their lips even in death. I shiver.

“Oh no…” She moves towards the cage. I stop her. “Let me go, Casavir!”

I let her go.

She darts up to the cage. 

  
  


“We’re okay…” She says, letting her breath go. “It’s a khajit, rest his soul.”

I exhale, feeling the world spin slightly as the anxiety melts. 

“The poor soul. May he rest in peace.” I catch up to her, clasping my hands together for a short prayer. Arkay, give him safe passage. He has endured much in this life. “Rowan… I need to tell you something about Bishop.”

“What?” She asks. My mind flickers to the bounty papers. Do I tell her? Bishop pleaded for me not to, but she needs to know, doesn’t she?  

“Alright...we need to keep moving.” She resolves, tugging my sleeve. I keep my mouth shut despite how much I want to tell her the truth about her companion. “Cas, do you feel watched?”

“No…” I look around us, seeing nothing but the pale blue ice. “It’s the vampirism. I will go first, if it will make you feel better.”

“Thank you, but…” I move in front of her, and her sentence drops as she follows me up the ramp and to the upper tunnels. We reach the platform, and suddenly I can feel it too; piercing eyes watching me. I look to the walls, into the tunnels, but there’s nothing in sight; only the frigid ice and--

“Cas!” She screams, the two pairs of eyes from behind the ice now fully visible.

“Gargoyles!” I draw my sword defensively, but it’s too late; they bust through the ice, the first one’s claws meeting my blade as I twist to keep from buckling under the weight. Ice chunks break on my armor uselessly due to its rigidity, but Rowan’s dragon armor…!

A large chunk hits her shoulder, knocking her into my back. I whirl around, looking to sweep her into my grasp and keep the gargoyles off, but…

“Son of a B-” I hear her struggle, the ice cracking on top of stone. 

When I turn around she’s already gone.

The claws of the second gargoyle around her, she struggles in vain. The stony skin of the gargoyle trap her in as it makes eye contact with me, flaunting its prize… and before I can even make a sound, it’s retreated back into its shoddy tunnel, Rowan’s angry voice echoing off the walls back at me. 

“You…!” I sneer, slashing at the one in front of me. My steel breaks its claws off, cleaving through the rock expertly. But I could have been wielding an ingot of metal for all I cared. With my rage at this level, I could break through the skyforge! “Return her!” I roar, as if the gargoyle was going to hear. But my sword has already broken its face, leaving it a pile of half stone, half beast on the ice. My breath, visible in the cold, puffs in my face, but I can’t feel the strain. I’m filled with unbridled anger that burns from my core. Bless these vampires, Stendarr. They’ll need it.

I’m alone.

“Hey, what the fuck’s going on out there!? Fuckin’ assholes, unlock me and see what happens-!” Bishop’s voice ricochets off the ice and hits me full force, only to raise my rage even more. But I’ll humor him this time. I sling my sword onto my back, following the echo of the metal rattling through the tunnels. 

“Yeah, that’s right asshole! C’mere- try me bitch!” He roars, rattling the cage more. I hear rusty chains clink against each other as he threatens to collapse his part of the tunnel. Ice falls overhead, chunks hitting the ground and breaking under my boots. 

I round the corner to come into a bedroom, with Bishop locked in a cage in the corner. He holds the bars with two hands, rattling his heart out. And...he’s shirtless.

“Quiet, you fool.” I scold, walking up to his prison. “Hm. Fitting.”

“That ‘try me’ extends to you too, asshole.” He sneers. “Couldn’t Rowan have saved me? Where’d she go? Is she with Halfi? I heard the yelling earlier- you massacred that lady, whoever she was. And what was the other thing? Golemn?”

“That was your lady and a gargoyle.”

“What-”

“She was taken. We need to hurry.” I wedge my sword in between his door and the prison, not caring at how close the tip comes to slicing into his chest. He presses into the rusty iron testily, watching me with a now dour look.

“I don’t know where my stuff is…” 

“Why are you here, anyway?” I look around. It’s just a bedroom. Some beds, a few nightstands, that’s it. I paruse over the cabinet of potions, tucking a few into my pack. I smash the paralysis potions and the poisons just to be sure they can’t be used. 

“It’s mostly women in here, Cas.”

“So?”

“I’ll let you figure that one out, buddy.” He scratches his head. “So what happened again? You two got separated?”

“No, we were together. A gargoyle grabbed her and ran off.” I turn, but Bishop’s grabbed hold of my robes, yanking me to him and shaking me. 

“You…! You couldn’t do anything!?” He shakes me again. “What kind of fucking Paladin are you!?” He lets go of me, roughly shoving me backward. “Going to save two people, losing one and saving one. You’re not supposed to break even, Paladin.” He growls, flipping my dagger in his palm. I barely recognized my own dagger; I had assumed he had found one. But no. 

“How did you steal that?” I grasp at my belt.

“It’ll do.” He tugs a robe he finds in the nightstand over his bare chest, taking liberties with the knife to tailor it a bit more. “ _ Sorry fangirls, I’m a bit cold.” _

“What?”

“Nothing. You don’t have any.” He cinches the belt, looking around. “Now, do you have any clue where the two girls are?”

“I don’t know. Farther in, I’d surmise.” I draw my sword, looking around the corner and back into the ice tunnels. “Now then… I believe there’s a few still ahead.”

“There’s three ahead at least. Two vampires, one thrall. Vampires are breton, thrall nord.” He says matter-of-factly. “There has to be a leader, though… Did Rowan check?”

“Rowan checked for life force, there wasn’t much.” I mutter, still looking. “That means they either aren’t there, or they’re completely changed. Lords or pure.”

“Great…” He hisses. “Alright, let’s move. Don’t clank everywhere, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” I say bitterly. It’s always about my armor, but it saved me from the gargoyle, so I won’t complain. 

Bishop sneaks forward, his boots barely touching the ground as he walks, crouched to take advantage of the low light of the tunnels. Only the few torch sconces on the supports gave any light, and even then they were used sparingly. The vampires must have been wary of the tunnel collapsing. 

Sure enough, in a living space sits two vampires. A thrall guards the door opposite of us; as we round the corner he’ll see. Bishop doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. With Rowan on the line, he’s perfectly fine with risking his own safety. Admirable and yet also selfish.

He pokes out, sending my knife through the thralls throat, pinning him by the neck to the ice. The vampires screech in turn, leaping to their feet and turning to Bishop as he rushes, grabbing the blade and spinning it through the next closest woman. I catch up and cleave the third, sending them to their fate without a single blow given. 

“Reminds me of old times.” Bishop crouches, closing the eyes of the women and retrieving his knife once more. He grabs some gold and hesitates as he grabs some nirnroots, placing the vial in his pocket. “For Rowan.”

“Don’t speak of ‘old times’, Ranger. I don’t want comradery with you.” I nearly spit as we both catch our breath. I drink heavily from my waterskin, only now realizing how much I had been sweating. Bishop takes their daggers and hangs them from his waist; the crafted blades are only throwing knives in his hands. 

“Cas...Casavir… look. I’m sorry. But I’ve changed.” He straightens, turning to me with a gaze I almost take for apologetic. He sticks out his his hand, looking for me to take it. My gaze falls to the two he slaughtered without hesitation, dead on the floor. Their closed, pale eyes grant me flashbacks of the other bodies we stood over, Bishop wiping blood off his face and blade using a dead man’s shirt. Of Alis, the dark elf who could sing like the Gods, face down; too many holes in his back to count. His blood mixing with the burgundy of the wine to create a sickening puddle under Bishop’s boots. My gaze finally travels up his clothing back to Bishop, and I snap out of my little reflection. What would Alis think? He was a kind soul; willing to listen and forgive, but I somehow can’t fathom him letting me take his hand. “I get you don’t trust me still, but give me a second chance too, dammit. All I want is Rowan back.”

“I can’t take that hand yet, Bishop.” I grab my gauntlet, showing I have no intention of reaching forward. “Not until I know you’ve repented enough to satisfy Alis.” 

“Fine. So we squabble on.” He snarls, looking onward. “They have to be ahead. Looks like a big room.” He presses against the wall, trying to get vision on the room; but it’s useless. We walk ahead blind. The cave tapers wider and wider until it takes a sharp turn into the room, leaving us unable to see if anything’s inside. Be safe, Halfi. Be safe, Rowan…

“Oh, please. I know you’re there.” A voice from inside laughs, ringing through the ice. Bishop looks to me, then my armor, as if blaming it. His teeth show as he swears, his lips pulling into a lupine scowl as I see he’s threatening to snap. “It isn’t the clanky one’s fault, though he’s to blame about me knowing about this whole operation. The girl didn’t bear much of a mark, but I can feel Stendarr off of him from the door.” 

“Unclean fool.” I spit back, inching into the room first. Bishop pops up behind me once he sees I didn’t keel over with a smoldering face. “Return them to us and we’ll make your death swift!”

“Oh please Vigilant, you’re in my trap. Your rhetoric will get you nowhere.” The room was an arena of sorts, with different rooms surrounding the main pit like the spokes in a wheel. On top of the high wall stood a pureblood, looking down with a freakish grin. The vampire in full robes stands near a mass of levers, and pulls one once he sees us both. Sharp spears impale themselves downward in the doorway, blocking us from escaping. 

“Give her back!” Bishop yells from below, still wielding his dagger. “I’ll rip you apart- I swear-”

“Don’t worry...they’re safe…” The vampire says, lifting another lever. Two coffins stand, their mechanisms grinding to lift them. Once they come to rest the lids flex as loud banging is heard from within, along with muffled shouting. The lock keeps the coffin together, sealing the two within them. “Won’t be soon, though. But how do I get rid of a holy Paladin and his annoying friend?”

“We aren’t friends.” Bishop clarifies, eyes on the sealed coffins. He reaches for a bow he doesn’t have, scowling when he grabs nothing but air. “Fuckin’ hells!”

“Give them to us…” I feel my lip curl in disgust as I watch how hard they try to escape their tombs. Halfi was claustrophobic; she must be suffering terribly. 

“I need one of them for something. Won’t tell you which. You two are entirely expendable, however~” He sings, pulling more levers down. The side barriers raise, letting two bears into the ring. They lumber forward, starvation glinting in their eyes as they hungrily eye Bishop and myself. I must seem like a snack with a crunchy outside and soft center to them; they’ve become feral from hunger. 

“Bishop…” I mutter. “You take the one on the left. I take the one on the right.”

“Got it.” He sinks a knife into the bear’s forehead, stepping forward clashing with it. I take to my own quarry, heaving my greatsword from my back and swinging it down like an executioner’s axe. It cleaves through ligaments as I swing, tearing sinew from bone as it cuts through a shoulder. The bear rears back, swiping at me with its claws; I dodge backward only to watch a poisonous cloud zing past me, hitting the wall. 

“Spiders!”

“Yeah, I know!” Bishop grunts, his blade wedged in the maw of the frostbite spiders. “Haven’t you heard of waves, asshole!?”

“Now why would I do that?” The vampire pulls another lever, releasing the sabre cats with a laugh. 

“...A smart villain, for once.” I remark, cleaving through the bear’s neck. Bishop kills the spiders, and I step in front of him to block the sabre cat from tearing him limb from limb. Its teeth clatter off my armor as I bring my sword down, swinging up and under the big cat, tearing into its side. 

“Don’t give him credit, ye ass!” Bishop scolds, kneeling on the ground. Crimson litters the ice like petals, attesting to our fight. 

The cat falls, buckling under my sword. I give the vampire a dirty look and turn to Bishop, healing his shoulder. The bear’s claws had nicked a major vein. I mutter to myself as Bishop looks to the vampire, staring.

“Now what? Going to send a dragon? I’ve killed them, vampire, and I’ll kill you too.” He snarls, canines in full view as he flaunts his power like a rabid wolf. 

“Oh, no, no…” The vampire grins, patting the coffins lovingly. At his touch they begin to move once again, the occupants inside bashing against the lids in terror. Cas swore he heard Halfi’s accent, something she only slips into when she’s scared. Rowan sounds furious; as expected. She’s much braver than anyone I’ve ever met. They need to get to them… “Trust me, I know you each have a favorite amongst the two.” He plants one hand on the left, one on the right. “Paladin, on the left sits your partner. And rugged one, your sweet little Dragonborn is on the right.” He sings, watching Bishop strain. The banging dies down again as if they became exhausted and fatigued. Is the box airtight?

“You son of a bitch…” Bishop steps forward. “Paladin, throw fire or something! Get them!”

“If I hit the coffins, Bishop, they burn alive.” I tell him quietly. 

“The Vigilant is correct. They’re at my mercy. So you better listen well.” He smiles again, looking down at us as if we were cattle. “You’re going to fight.”

“Fight what?” I look around. All the doors have been opened. 

He smiles again, licking his lips tentatively. 

“I’m in need of a snack, you see. Being awake for so long makes me hungry.” He drums his fingers along the coffin. “But I can’t eat all of you, can I? So here’s how it’s going to be… You’re going to fight each other, and whoever wins gets their lucky lady back. Whoever loses… they die and their body and partner becomes my next meal.” He smiles sweetly again, deformed canines poking from his lips. “Got it? Good. Fight!” 

“Bastard…” My lips form the word as I feel myself slip, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. “May Arkay damn you to the lowest ring of Oblivion; let your sins be hot chains!”

“Yeah yeah. On with it, my gladiators. Or I’ll decide to eat the two sweeter tasting meals a bit early...and crispier than expected.” A small flame appears at the end of his sharp nail, and he taunts us both by bringing it to the coffin’s door, singing the edge. 

“I’d laugh, but…” He grips the dagger again, swallowing hard. “Casavir.”

“What?” I look over for a moment, expecting a signal of sorts. But Bishop just stares back, weighing his options. 

“You aren’t seriously going to fight me, are you?” I ask, swinging around with my greatsword. “That’s exactly what he wants, Bishop!”

“And that’s what he’s going to get, as long as Rowan’s up there.” He glances to the right coffin, which has calmed down. “Unless you have a better idea. And I’m sure you don’t. I’ll protect who I care about, but you and Halfi don’t make the list.”

“You can’t be serious.” I give myself space, just in case he’s actually crazy enough. 

“You said it yourself, you think I’m dangerous. Let me show how right you are…” He growls, circling me as he flips his knife dangerously. My vigilant dagger is just as long as his first knife was before he sharpened it down over the years. He knows exactly how to use that blade against me...

“Don’t do this, Bishop.” I say calmly, holding my sword out in front of me.

“It’s a rational thought~” The vampire chimes. “There can either be two deaths, or four.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Bishop tests different grip styles on the dagger anxiously. “Guess I’ll be finishing the massacre at Gallows after all.”

“Bishop!” I snap, angrily losing my temper as I feel my grip tighten, squeezing the hilt of my blade. The leather pads part of it, but I push so hard I feel the steel of the core bite into my hand. “You’re a fool. Don’t do this. I swear Bishop, there’s another way.”

“Do you see another way?” He looks to the walls. “Do you, Paladin? Because I don’t.” 

“I’m sure there’s one…” I soothe. He’s lost his chain. And just as I predicted, he’s reverted back to his old self. There was no hesitation; for what he wants, I’m a small sacrifice. I’m sure I can save all four of us, I just don’t know how…! Stendarr, Akatosh, Mara, Arkay! ...Okay, maybe not Arkay. 

Bishop flips the knife in his palm, catching it and angling it backwards. I see his form flinch right before he lunges forward wildly, barely giving me enough time to block the stab by a hair’s breadth. The wall of rushing air hit me after, whispering warnings to his speed. I immediately tense and begin to try and remember our times we sparred. I can’t remember anything except the struggle of my heart; and that’s useless to me now. 

I may fear Bishop. 

But I’m  _ terrified  _ of a desperate Bishop.

He dodges to my left, my bad side, and doesn’t hesitate into swiping at my stance. His steel toed boots crafted by Rowan’s hand hook around my ankle, widening my form and giving him a window for more attacks. My next swing is sluggish and goes too far; I get backlash in the form of a heavy kick to my hip. My metal shell makes it difficult for him to use the dagger, but knowing him, he’ll wear me down until he can wedge the blade into my neck.

My heart races as I watch him create distance between us by choice, slowly circling, analyzing my armor and how to tear into me. This battlefield was his from the beginning. He’s the attacker, and my job is to defend. His eyes, slanted and focused, threaten to stall out my mind as I’m too concerned with staring at him to try and defend myself. The faint stench of wine hits my nose as I feel my conscious swoon for only a fraction of a second. He gives out a short bark of a laugh as we circle farther.

“Getting nervous, Paladin?” He grins. “I guess this is payback for selling me out! You wanted to try and take me out so bad? Here you go!”

“You’ve lost your mind.” I sneer, the morbid context of this revenge making my skin crawl. I look to the two sealed coffins, trying not to picture Rowan and Halfi locked inside. What can I do? Stendarr, please… “Bishop, you’re insane. This is crazy. You can’t trade a life for a life!”

“Come on Casavir, don’t the vigilants teach self-sacrifice?” He runs his hand along the blade. The action isn’t for show. He’s memorizing the length of the blade in units only he knows.

“Not for a godless man like you.” I force the words, grating them out through my clenched teeth. My knuckles are falling numb and turning white, threatening to pop off.

“Not even for the Dragonborn?” He asks, forcing his voice to sound casual. I grind my teeth, willing my tongue to stay in place. He’s desperate, and just as fearful as I am. I must hold myself back. I won’t let myself become like him. I’ve just barely begun to finally get my footing under myself, at last finding my balance; I won’t stand idly by as he yanks the chair back and hangs me by the noose I’ve just begun to ease off.

“I won’t let you twist my justice, Bishop. I know what’s right.” I swallow my fear, erasing it from my system and turning it into courage. I loosen my grip, letting my blade comfortably rest in my hand, and I lull my heart to its normal beat. He won’t beat me so easily. 


	46. Bishop vs. Casavir-- Hitboxing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's having a tough time right now. (But the chapter title puns are back! And are just as bad as always.)

**Rowan**

I wake up to my arms bound behind me. I’m kneeling on a hard wooden floor, as cold as ice to the touch. I also have a blindfold on. What’s going on!? Where the hell am I? I can hear voices around me, but my head is ringing too much to tell me what they say. There’s a heavy roll of cloth bitten between my teeth, keeping me from shouting. Or at least so they think.

**“Laas!”** I whisper, looking to the pale lights. It’s the only shout I can use like this… but I suppose it’s better than nothing. There’s three or more vampires. I wonder if Casavir is okay? And what about Bishop and Halfi!? Am I in a prison? I try to get up, only to find chains rattle and I feel pressure around my ankles. What the hell is happening right now? I speak only to find a muffled mess. I can’t feel anything around me except the coldness of the floor.

“She’s awake.” A male reports.

“That’s fine. Continue.” A deeper male voice answers.

“Are...are we sure? She could fight back…” A female voice asks, her voice quivering. 

“I changed her. She’s weak enough even conscious.” The deeper voice snaps. “The soul gems are around her. You five; stand around the circle.”

Footsteps fall around me, each coming closer and closer until it seems like they’ll reach me, but they stop. What the fuck is happening!? Seems like some sort of ritual-- new plan; I need to disrupt this somehow. I roll backwards, getting to my feet, only to find the chain is only long enough for me to kneel. Alright… we’re going to do this the hard way…! I bite my lip as I channel my fire magic to my wrists, not my hands; superheating them with enough power to melt iron. Chains cannot hold a dragon.

“She’s trying to escape!”

“She can’t. Those chains are specifically for the Dragonborn. He told us all the tricks she’d use.”

If it wasn’t for the cloth in my mouth, I would have laughed. I feel the metal start to expand, and--

Oh no.

“He was very specific about that steel type. It was hard to get skyforge steel cuffs, but somehow he procured them himself. He can read her easily.” The deep voice taps his foot. “Are you done, Dragonborn? Because we’re going to start.” 

I twist around to try and look at my assailants, or at least face their direction, but the chains aren’t long enough; so I sit and gnaw at my gag, hoping to bite through the cloth. My heart races even more as I feel the long incisors cut into the cloth, nearly cleaving through. Almost there...then I can shout fully…!

“On with it!” Another female commands. 

“You--get back to the circle!”

“She’s facing me!” He protests, but I hear him step back.

“Stay still.” The deep voice commands them all to silence, and I hear a heavy book open up on a stand behind me. The floorboards begin to warm, seemingly humming under me, whispering something I can’t seem to understand. It makes me drowsy… I slump forward, nearly hitting the floor if my wrist chains didn’t jerk me to some sort of upright position. The chanting gets louder and louder, the air around me speaking in tongues… my head slumps down to my chest once I can’t keep track of them all. It’s like they’re talking to me...but I can’t make out anything. I feel myself slowly go numb as my brain tries to track all of the voices, then one of the voices, then two...then all… a weird pattern I can’t seem to figure out. 

Then it hits me. The voices aren’t talking to me! I don’t know who it is--but I don’t need to! My breathing slows as I let myself slip under, comforted that I’m not missing anything. I can just ignore the voices. They don’t mean anything to me. I can go back to sleep. But they won’t shut up! 

Shut up!

_ Shut up! _

**_Shut up!_ **

**_Shut up!_ **

Sh̶ųt͢ uṕ!

Ṣ̩͈h͈̙͔̖͍̠͕ų͙̱̖͉͎̩t̡͖ ҉̞̪̤̬̻̭̱u̞p͔̠̫̦̻̪͟!

  
  
  


Ş̵̵̱͙̪̜̅̒͌͆͝h̡̊̀̆̂̒ͩͮ̾͝͞͡҉̠̯̙̰̘̻͈̳̬ͅūͫ̆̉̿̿͗͆̓ͨ̓̎̕҉̝̣̠͓̙̼̤͇̪̮̕͢͡ṯ̷̴̴̞̙͎̘̻̯̭̱̺̺̦̼͙̠̻͎̋̀͆̽̾̑ͤ̋ͩ̌ͭ̒ͦ̚̚͘͞ ̧̱̜͙̞̘̥̥̰̬̜̬̤̽̂̔͑̎̒͐ͣ̓͑ͅṷ̧̘̖̖͈̥̜͎̻̊̃͑̅̀́p͆ͮ̏ͬ̍ͫ̇͏̠̙̯͓͕̭̩̖̩͚̣̻̤͇̜͚̯͖̕

 

**Rowan(?)**

Rowan rises to her full height, stretching and rolling her wrists as the bonds burn off. The iron drips off in puddles and cools on the floor, burning into the wood in ashy splotches. The vampires around her back off testily, hands ready to ward if need be. She releases her breath slowly, opening her eyes only once she’s settled on her feet. 

“Master?” The man with the tome asks quietly, using it as a shield. 

“Quiet.” She demands. The other vampires all retreat back to the edges of the walls and away from Rowan, picking up the various ritual items as they go to keep her from accessing them. “She’s putting up a fight.”

“Should we contain her?” He flips to another page of the book, pressing down on the pages with a quivering hand.

“No--” She stops, clutching her her head. “No more power! She’s fighting me for it-- But it doesn’t matter; I’m meshed with her now-- Hear that, girl? I’ve won!”

Rowan struggled with herself, grasping awkwardly at her clothes as her senses played tug of war. Pioth made her release them, only for her hands to clutch at them once more, switching from her clothes to her hands, then her dagger; her teeth ground behind her lips as she smiled, then sneered; whimpering only to growl the next moment. 

“No you haven’t, son of a bitch!” She scowls, casting her hands away and summoning a shadow dagger to her hands. She swiped it across the top of her arm in a quick slice, and clenched her teeth as the blood seeped out. “Way to make this a damn edgy story, jackass.” 

She breathes out, slowly, looking to the vampires around her. They stood randomly placed around the room, daggers loosely in hand, as if they’d do anything. Rowan was furious; she could feel her pulse in her forehead beating like a war drum. They stood, stunned, waiting for her to make the first move-- and she was going to. 

The one on her right shifts a foot, grabbing her aim. She twists around, vaulting the blade into the man’s sternum and summoning her swords in its place. 

“The spell! Bind her!” The one nearest to the master vampire cries. 

**“FUS….RO DAH!”** Rowan commands, and the world obeys. The ones directly in the blast barely had time to breathe before they were thrown violently into the stone and mortar wall, sending dust from the ceiling as the entire room shifted. This secluded wing of the throne was threatening to collapse if she kept going. She took one look at the magic circle they had her trapped in before passing judgement, finding them all guilty. The vampire holding the book found both him and the text blown to cinders by a fireball full of anger and flame, and after his death the rest tried to flee towards the door. Rowan’s hand only flickered as she summoned a flame atronach to block their path, burning the skin of those who tried to get around it. 

She walked forward, cornering her quarry like a feral cat, tamed insanity in her eyes. The burning sensation died down much faster than expected, and she found her voice again much sooner than usual.

**“YOL...TOOR!”** She breathed, fire washing over the remaining vampires. She kept a steady pace as she continued towards the door, hoisting up a vampire who wasn’t disintegrating fast enough up by the collar. She threw him to the side, not caring if he lived or died; her eyes were only fixed on the path in front of her. The scrape of her dragon boots echoed down the hall like the sharpening of a blade, manipulated again and again into a dangerous rhythm. 

 

**Rowan**

“Alright...so… where the hell is the entrance?” I wander around for a few moments after the badassery of before slowly fades. I’m confused on how I got here. Wasn’t I in the glacier before? Is this Am I in the main fort? I can’t tell. I have my spells, but they stripped me of my armor, and it’s cold as hell. I’m even barefoot! “What would Bishop do?”

I pause in the middle of the hallway, thinking that over.

“Probably looting.”

I spin ninety degrees on my heels, going into the closest room to me. It’s a crappy storage room; only potion ingredients and some scraps line the shelves. But there is a small chest which may be useful…

I open the lid, looking in. A pair of spare boots to cover my cold feet-- it’s a start. I rummage around in the bottom, shoving aside the moth-eaten wool and decaying leather to look for anything else of value. My hand bumps into what seems like a quartz orb with an odd dimpled surface, as if someone was carving a sphere and stopped halfway.

**_A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON!_ **

“Gah! Fuck no!” I screech, covering my ears at the annoying voice. I throw the orb as hard as I can out the door, hearing it bounce off into oblivion to go bother some other person. Preferably one who was deaf. I only serve daedra who are at least semi-competent, and even then they need to not be so stuck up.

I stand back up, sighing heavily at the bad find. I hope whatever that thing was, that it never finds human hands again. Creepy as hell. 

Depending on how this place is structured, there’s a main room I’ll run into eventually. My stuff is probably closer to that room, and Halfi and Bishop will probably be around there too. I slip on the boots slowly, putting my other hand to use in slowly massaging my temple. My head’s killing me. I don’t know what happened back in that room, but I only gained consciousness after the guy with the book exploded. Pioth was definitely in control for some time, but I barely remember fighting him for control. It seems so long ago. My head aches just thinking about it. 

“Now then… anyone around who isn’t a bloodsucker?” I ask hopefully. All the doors on this hallway look locked. 

Only a vampire pops out from a nearby bedroom.

“Can’t you follow directions!?” I swear, giving him a swift death and ducking into the now unlocked room. The room was absolutely dilapidated; all the rooms on this hallway must be a string of old jail cells. This one even had gaps in the mortar between the rooms. Age hasn’t been nice to this wing. “Alright… let’s be smart about this…” I open all the drawers and look through. A candle… some coins… a necklace. I sling it on for no reason. 

“...Rowan?” I hear from the next room. 

“Halfi?” I walk forward, looking around. “Which side are you on?”

“I...don’t know. I can’t see you.” She says weakly again, and I hear some chains rattle. 

“Hold on.” I stoop down to look through the hole in the wall, seeing a standalone cage inside another room. “I see you. I’ll get you out-- let me go get the door.” I circle around to the door to her room, taking hold of the knob and yanking furiously. It bangs and bends, but it’s not going to budge despite my brute force. The door is reinforced with iron, and the corrosion hasn’t gotten to the reinforcements inside the door. I stare at the worn oak for a few moments, desperate to get to Halfi. I’m so close, and she seems injured. What can I do? I can’t break down the door, and I don’t know where the key is. I didn’t see it on that last vampire. And I don’t know how long it’ll be until I can unlock the door. I don’t even have any lockpicks on me!

I feel focused even through the killing the pain under my temple. I hadn’t really realized it before-- but I feel great! Despite the fight, I’m not wounded at all, and I actually feel rejuvenated. I don’t know how, but I’m sure I don’t want to know. I’d rather live in ignorance about what that incantation earlier was actually supposed to do. 

I walk back inside the room I was in, looking through the mortar once more. I can see the outline of the cage; it’s in the far corner. She was as far as she could be from this section of the wall. 

“Alright Halfi… I’m going to break the wall down.”

“You’re going to WHAT!?”

“Don’t question--only accept.” I say as I press a hand against a semi-loose brick. I cover my eyes with a forearm and shift my feet apart, praying that this’ll work without anything ricocheting back to me. “Three...two...!”

I’m a bit of a cheater; I start sending a fireball to my palm before I got to one. I feel the heat find no where to go, and it bides its time until I decide to release the power. It swirls in front of my palm and against the wall, angrily churning more and more until I’m ready to release.

“Three!” I say, releasing my tie on the spell. It explodes violently, sending dust and rubble every direction imaginable as the magic combusts. 

I cough and wheeze until the dust finally settles.

“Hey.” I smirk, looking to Halfi. She’s crouched in the cage, one arm over her head and the other around her torso. 

“You’re crazy!” She breathes, standing back up and shifting awkwardly.

“That’s more true than you know.” I smile, walking up and placing my hand on the lock. It drips into the floor, releasing her. 

“There’s a lock pick in my boot, disguised as the end of one of the ties. Don’t melt my wrists, please.” 

“Didn’t plan on it.” I grab the lockpick, kneeling as I release her hands. “Where’s everyone else?”

“No clue-- it was dead silent until you caused all that noise in the back room. What was there, anyway?” 

“Daedra stuff. I destroyed it, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” She sighs, relieved. “They almost took  _ me  _ back there, but once they realized I wasn’t you, they just shoved me in here.” 

“Really?” I step back. “Specifically me?”

“The dragonborn.” She shrugs. “Are there two of you?”

“Right now? I wish.” I breathe. “So they just shoved you in here and left you?”

“Yep.” She stretches. “Do you know where our stuff is?”

“No, and I just got a bad feeling. Halfi, know any magic?”

“Only healing. I’m worse than Casavir.” She shrugs. “What do we do? Should we look for them? If they’ve been captured, they might kill them if they hear us coming.”

“Bishop wasn’t captured for a reason?”

“I..don’t know. Some of the lesser vampires were squabbling over him, I think, but I got hauled off right after. Did Cas get captured too?”

“Not originally. We both made it, but we came in here to rescue you all. I got taken, but he could still be free.”

“I’m sure he is. He’s not book smart, but vampires won’t phase him.” Halfi assures me.

“I’m not worried about him fighting the vampires…” I pause. I’m just overthinking it, I suppose. “Okay. We need to get us armor, and you need a sword.”

“What about you?” She looks to me. “Do you have enough magic?” 

I flex my hands, testing the strength still in them. It feels like I could throw full-fledged fireballs forever. Like I don’t have limits at all. I’ve already recovered after the pseudo-fireball, where as before four would have me gasping for breath and completely drained.

“I’m running out, but I think I’ll be fine.” I look forward into the hallway. “Let’s keep going, then. We’ll find them eventually.”

…

We wander around more, looping in and out of the seemingly endless dungeons. I start to think even the torch sconces look familiar as I drag my left hand along the left wall, desperately trying to find the way out. The only way to tell if we’re going the right way are the vampires, who after our blade reaches them, serve as maccabe markers along the path.

“Rowan, let’s go right.” Halfi says at last. 

“Alright. Do you recognize this?”

“No. But I hear fighting.” Her eyes flicker down our hallway to the right. “It’s faint, but it sounds like a pretty even struggle. I bet it’s Casavir.”

“I can’t hear anything.” I try and listen, but my senses are dulled after my awakening, and her elven ears are much more sensitive than mine. “Lead on, though.”

She takes the lead as we walk through the hallway, and I finally begin to hear the music of weapons screeching along each other. She was right-- it sounds like a struggle. As we grow closer, the voices finally begin to have some tone and personality to them. 

As soon as we hear Casavir yelp, we both break out into a sprint.

…

**Casavir**

“Give up--Bishop--we can still salvage this!” I say, sparking the last of my magic to heal the lacerations on my sword arm. My legs have gone numb, and my hair clings in wet strands to my forehead despite the ice room we’re trapped in. 

“Actually, I’m beginning to like this idea. I finally get to kill you, and I get Rowan back,” He flips my dagger across his palm in the blink of an eye, still somehow having energy for showing off. “Should have shaken my hand, Paladin.”

“If anything, it’s making me glad I never took it.” I say through gritted teeth. “Through Arkay’s favor, I’d want to be there when you got Rowan back. I’d like to see you look her in the eyes and tell her that you killed me in order to get her back. I wonder how she’d skin you?”

That seemed to get to Bishop for an instant as he stood, eyes cast downward at the ice. 

“Now now, Paladin. Aren’t you doing the same thing?” The master vampire chimed in, sitting cross-legged near the side of the ice cliff. “Besides, it’s a rational thought, isn’t it? Only two of you can walk away from this, so why shouldn’t it be him?”

With the assurance of the vampire backing him, Bishop’s gaze turned steely once more, and all the progress I had made with my last remark vanished into the cold air. I can no longer save him. He’s going to ignore my words from now on. I risked a glare over my shoulder to sneer at the vampire, but he only laughed. 

“How long will you last, Paladin?” He stands flat-footed, showing his cockiness brazenly. I clench my teeth, looking to my discarded armor on the floor. He’s begun to cut away at my armor pieces skillfully with those knives of his. He’s down to one, but it’s mine. He wants it for the irony. My chestpiece is nearly falling off, and I’ve lost both gauntlets and my throatpiece. Bishop will be going in for the kill soon.

Rowan and Bishop are so immensely different. She cut away my armor to save me-- this man strips it to strike me down. 

We circle each other, Bishop’s footfalls even and steady, and mine sluggish and forced. He’s like a wolf circling an injured bear-- and I intend to act like one, too. If he comes forward, I’m cleaving him in half. 

“So you’re finally intent on killing me? Good.” Bishop acknowledges the fire in my eyes, a grimace like smirk appearing amongst his stubble. “Glad to see you’re just like me, Paladin.”

“I’m not. And I never will be. I’m better than you, Bishop--”

“We’re alike. Same origin, different path, Paladin. But we still came from the same place. Two of a kind.”

“Used to be three.” I stab at him. He grits his teeth harder, the muscle in his jaw tensing. 

“Then I suppose you can keep him company, eh?” Bishop flips the dagger again, suddenly closing the gap in the circle. He spins under my sword strike, cutting the last piece binding my cuirass, and steps back so it clatters to the ground. I’m still holding back, even if I don’t mean to! He’s taken my armor bit by bit so he can dig at me, and I’m letting him! Focus, Casavir. Focus.

The vampire claps from atop the ice wall, smiling from ear to ear like a cheshire. 

“Armed with only a pigsticker… you impress me, mortal.” He crosses his hands, giving out a short clap.

“Hey look, you’re the bloodsucker’s jester.” I glare, tugging my tunic. My bare back is freezing in the cold, and the shiver that comes with it nearly shakes my blade out of my hand. But once the shiver gets out of my system, all I can feel is just rage. If he’s going all in for this, then I can meet him with equal force. I have no reason to hold back; not when it’s life and death here. 

The rage starts to take over again; my hand clenches around the hilt of my sword. I can’t lose myself to it, but I can certainly use it. My eyes narrow at Bishop as I roll my shoulders, and it feels like I’m shedding the cold in scaly layers. Vampire be damned-- killing Bishop is my priority now. He can say anything he wants, I won’t reply. I don’t have to, not anymore. I did my best to reason with him, but he’s too far gone. I’ve known that from the start. My hand has been forced. If I fail, I die-- but at this point, I don’t even care about that. I’ve been faithful through my life, and Bishop would end up in a much worse place than I would if we die here. 

That’s a comforting thought. What was I afraid of again? The pain? I can barely feel my fingers, and I’m no stranger to the aches and pains of bruised and broken bones. Sure, he can hurt me, but he’s going to have to do more than that to stop me from killing him.  

I wonder how many times I can punch him before he dies. 

“Hey look, a dead man walking.” He says, with little emotion. He’s flat-footed again, probably banking on the fact that I won’t attack first. But with my senses on full alert and my mind as focused as a Greybeard, he has no clue what’s about to happen. Switching from defense to offense. 

I take advantage of that naivety, pivoting on my feet and lunging at him. Of course, he responds with trying to close the distance so I’m in knife range and he’s out of range of my broadsword, but this time things are different. It was a feign; something I learned from Halfi years back. Normally when you swing a broadsword, you commit to the stroke, but not if you use it as a counterbalance. I backpedal out of the arc of his swing and cleave my trusty blade down. I feel it hit bone as Bishop hits the ice so hard it cracks underneath him, the echo distorting on the fractal walls. Unlike him, I only need one moment to turn a battle around. My strength is from myself, not tricks like Bishop.

I say nothing as I kick his elbow out from under him, letting him hit the ice one last time as I raise my sword, angling it towards his throat. At this point, I feel nothing.   
“Cas--” Bishop’s changed. His eyes are wide and panicked as he’s under me, and I’ve never seen his eyebrows knitted together. “Cas wait--” 

Is he pleading? Bishop? I’ve seen him about to be delivered to death, and he’s always chosen to say a last one-liner before his assumed demise. At an inn, facing down an axehead, he chose to drink his beer instead of saying anything memorable. I’ve never seen him scared in his entire life-- what’s so different about now? 

I pause for a moment, my grip loosening, trying to think of an answer.

**Rowan**

“Halfi, I’ll take out the vampire sitting down. He’ll be able to hear us in a moment--” I plan, next to her as we sprint. We both turn the corner and shove off the wall to speed us up, pushing our bodies to the limit. The only issue is Halfi’s unarmed, so I’ll do the fighting. 

“Alright-- I’ll keep--going--” She huffs as we continue on. 

As I thought, the vampire gets to his feet as soon as our footsteps echo to him, and he’s staring at us before our feet hit the ground again. I can see an ice storm well up in his hand, but I keep going. My confidence drags Halfi along beside me, though I know she’s stressed about that magic. 

I reach my hand out as we run, pushing a ward through my fingers. The rush of air as we run knocks the first few attempts like mist, and I grit my teeth as I see him release it. The air becomes even colder and frost begins to creep along the walls as the incoming storm threatens to claim our fingers. Hell, we’re barely clothed-- this could do permanent damage. I need to ward-- if we stop, we’ll be pinned down by the vampire. If we don’t break through this… the thought of frostbitten flesh makes me dizzy. 

“Keep going!” I say to Halfi, snapping my fingers angrily. Ward, ward dammit! I need a ward! Only spindly, ghostly sparks fly out of my hand. I’m distracted-- it’s messing up my form. I don’t have the mental strength to form a ward while keeping my speed. Ow--

I chomp on my tongue on accident, and a flood of iron reaches my mouth. I cough, but as I do, the ward finally sparks, unfolding out in front of us like a protective flower. The ice storm reaches us and dissipates on my shield, letting us use the storm as a cover. We break out of the icy fog to the main room, and I dig my boots into the snow as I reach the vampire. I hoist him into the air by his robes, and I hear Halfi continue on.

“Whaa-!” She screams out, her voice dipping in our low visibility. I hear her voice drop as I torch the vampire, dropping him so I can turn and look into the blood splattered arena. 

“ **WHAT THE HELL?** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Thank you for putting up with the brief update. I've been swamped with work lately, and I've been prioritizing my other writing projects. But rest assured, I will be finishing this! (Not soon--don't worry!)


	47. Traitorous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the 1337 views! (It's important to me, okay?) Choose a side, because this is going to bitter. This chapter is all about Bishop and Casavir's bitter hatred, something I deeply enjoy writing about. Enjoy!

**Casavir, the sweaty Paladin**

The sound of a freshly healed Bishop being beat against the ice by an enraged dragonborn sounded through the cave over and over, and I feel as if my brain may have a few screws loose. Each time the Ranger hits the cold floor I can only hear a child’s squeak toy being strangled. I can’t laugh; Halfi would thing I have a concussion! Currently, I’m kneeling on the ice while Halfi attends to my wounds, plastering the ones Rowan determined need to heal on their own with bandages. 

“You...stupid...ranger...fighting...over...stupid...shit!” Rowan hissed from clenched teeth.

“Wait a second-- Rowan--” Bishop says. Rowan finally lets him to his feet, and once she sees she’s dizzied him, places a hand to his forehead gently and sparks some magic. His eyes focus, and he’s back.

“Not my fault, I was under stress.” That’s the first thing he says!? STRESS!? If anyone was stressed, it was me!

“Under stress?” She says in disbelief. 

“I got scared, and decided it was best to fight him.”

“You got scared, and your first instinct was to fight Cas.”

“Correct.” I don’t know why he’s trying to downplay what just happened, but I won’t let him lie to her directly like that. Not when I know the truth. 

“That vampire made us think you were in the coffins.” I motion to the ones up on the ledge. I had forgotten all about whoever was locked in there-- but I don’t move as Rowan swings herself back up the wall, gracefully guided by some inner force within her, and with a summoned sword she wedges the lids off. 

“Corpses. Nord woman, Orc man.” She jumps back down. “Dead.”

“Dead?” Bishop says, wiping some dried blood off his cheek. “What?”

“Necromancy. We were fooled.” I sigh, standing slowly. “Bishop, we fought for nothing.” 

“No shit.” He snarls. I nearly lunge at him again, but Halfi’s firm arm on my shoulder keeps me back. 

“Bishop, please.” Rowan says. “No one’s in the mood.” She walks back to us on the ice, looking around the cavern. “I wonder where our stuff is…? I want to get out of here. I assume you all feel the same?”

“Rowan, what happened to you? After the gargoyle grabbed you?” I ask, trying to restring my armor back together. But it’s useless. It’s not going back together again without a professional’s touch.

“Well, after I got grabbed, I passed out somewhere along the way, and woke up in a room in the wing that direction.” She jerks her thumb to the passage her and Halfi came from earlier. “Killed the vampires, ran out, found some boots, found Halfi, and saved you guys from cleaving each other apart.”

“You’re unharmed.” I point out. “Only one without a scratch.” There’s so much at play here I can’t stand it. Bishop, whatever’s plaguing Rowan… the vampires, Bartrun’s death… the list goes on and on. I need to start putting together the pieces of what’s happening so I can fix it. I can only get information by asking dodging questions and watching responses. For example… Rowan picks her words carefully, not wanting me to see how her vision snapped down to her untarnished skin with a slight grimace on her face. 

“Well, I didn’t start fighting with Halfi once I found her.” 

“More like him playing dirty. All I had were daggers!” Bishop mutters. “Fighting nothing!”

“Now you know that isn’t true, Bishop-- I gave you every chance to stop fighting--!”

“Also, you refused to use anything but your dagger for  _ how  _ many years?” Rowan’s sarcasm shuts him up for a moment. But I can’t help but feel jipped slightly. She isn’t taking this as seriously as I am. She thinks the moment’s passed-!

“Still didn’t have my armor.” He huffs, leaning against the wall as Rowan heals a scratch on his cheek. 

“Aw, poor baby.” She grins, chuckling a bit. She twists towards me, biting her lip daintily. “Cas, you really roughed him up.” At her words, Bishop turns and blows air into her ear, making her rear back and claw at him. “Hey!”

“Quit it, Ladyship. The Paladin’s in a foul mood.”

“You tried to kill me!” I feel my throat burn as the rage comes back. It didn’t get spent on lopping his head off his body, after all.

“You tried to kill me too. Get over it; it’s finished.”

“Bishop--” Rowan tries.

“Hey, I’m being honest.” He shrugs. I strain forward again, but Halfi pulls me back, wrapping my arm tenderly.

“Pick your battles, Cas.” She soothes.

“I am, and--”

_ “Choose a place that’ll get you victory. The Dragonborn won’t give it to you here.”  _ She whispers softly, tying off my bandages.

“Halfi--”

“ _ Tell me later. Though I think I understand.” _

“Right.” I sigh. “So, Rowan, what’s our next move?”

“Get the hell out of this cave.” Bishop snarls. 

“Find our stuff, and I’ll burn the supports to these side tunnels. We can leave the outer shell of the fort, but Falkreath can rest easy once this labyrinth is gone. And Cas, you’re going to be bedridden for a time. I don’t like the look of your shoulder.”

“I’m fine.” 

“He’s not~” Bishop chimes in.

“I’m  **fine** .” I want to rest, but if Bishop’s saying otherwise, I won’t let myself seem weak. I’ll carry on, and rest when I can. 

“Quit it, you two.” Rowan looks around. “ _ Laas _ !” 

“Anyone?” Bishop flips my dagger, looking to where Rowan’s eyes scan. It angers me how he carries himself like that. After committing something so heinous against someone, it’s back to old business beside Rowan. My gut feels as if it’s on fire from rage, but I’ll quell it for now. Like Halfi said, I’ll pick my battles. I’ll be sure to make it a devastating war. Rowan, apologies, but your blindness has overtaken you. I don’t know what sort of monster you’re dealing with at the moment, but your attention has turned away from your pet wolf, and he’s threatening the innocent. I’ll happily become your eyes. 

“No one.” She covers her eyes for a moment, opening them. “I was trying to sense my things, but I’ve been away from them for too long.”

“Too bad.” Bishop shrugs. “Where are you thinking?” 

“Entrance, at the forge.” 

“So it’s not there. Next place?” 

“These types of places usually put the table next to where you’re being held.”

“Next.” 

“Main room.”

“Next.” 

“The tunnels the gargoyles were in?”

“Bingo.” Bishop runs off. 

“Halfi, take care of Cas for a moment-- I’ll get your things. Don’t move, I’ll be right back!” The two of them sprint off, leaving me and my partner alone in this icy oblivion. My breath is still visible, and the cold creeps close to my sweat-covered skin and clothes. I feel disgusting. 

“Well, I guess now you can tell me.” She sits next to me on the ice. “So what happened? Let’s see if the two of us can help out Rowan. Though this is partly on her, too.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I defend. “She’s had to cover for herself and him. It has to be taxing. She has enough issues. Bringing this to her full attention would be too detrimental. The Gods marked her--you can feel it too. They’re looking for us to ease some of her burden. It’s why I sought her out in the first place, despite the Ranger. But now, I’m thinking he’s the burden.”

“I can feel it too, but it’s fainter than I figured the Dragonborn would have.” She chews on her lip. “And it seems...twisted. That concerns me.”

“And I too. Though I’ll make that case before Carcette. Not here.” I heal the corner of my mouth, making it easier for me to speak. “Bishop, he--”

“Start from the beginning. We have time.” She says. “The tunnels are far from here.”

“Rowan was taken, and not long after I found Bishop. He took some daggers and those robes of his off a corpse, and we pressed on looking for you both. We came upon this...arena. When we walked in, the bars went up behind us, and the master vampire Rowan killed hauled up two coffins, saying that they…” I trailed off. 

“They?” 

“That they were you two. And that he’d kill you both. If we fought each other, the winner would get their partner back.”

“And Bishop fought you.”

“With due respect, I would never dream of throwing your lives away, but I knew there had to be some other way without turning on each other. I tried to make us work together, but he just turned on me, insisting he’d get Rowan and get out. Of course the vampire only goaded him on…”

“He’s reliant on Rowan. Though Rowan acts normal when he’s gone. It’s not mutual.” She looked to the passage the two of them took. “Such a strong, brittle man. A bit sad, really.”

“I envy him. He’s  _ fine _ . He doesn’t get the nightmares, the voices, the dreams. But it was him with that knife-” I stop myself. “I’m sorry.”

“Keep going.” She coaxes, propping her head up on her elbow. “C’mon Cas, open up~”

“That’s making me want to less, thanks.” I clench my jaw. “Halfi, please.”

“We have time, and it seems like you want to. You say no, but I know you, Casavir. You’d just deflect if you really didn’t want to talk.” 

“Halfi--”

“You’ll feel better, putting it all in the open. You can trust me, Cas. Whatever you say won’t change my opinion of you.” Her words are so usual, but she says them so sincerely I can’t help but feel my heartstrings begin to unknot themselves. “You know everything about me. I can help you, Casavir.”

“You’re too good at this.” I fiddle with some bits of my armor, trying to get them to fit. But really, I just don’t want to look at her.

“I’m wilder than her, I’m less loyal, and I could never love a man who hurts others so readily. In all honestly I believed things could improve when we all got reunited, but dressing your wounds has made me rethink that. He has to be stopped before someone not as strong as a Paladin finds him.” I pause, my heart gladdened at her words. Thank you, Halfi. I needed that. “Cas, it’s time. Something has to be done.”

“I know. Though it’s hard to shake the past….” I inhale, letting myself get flooded with old memories. At first, they were pleasant, but I know that after recounting I’ll regret it. 

…

_ I was sitting on a rock, my eyes closed as the morning sun hit me full in the face. Bishop was sitting on a tree branch above my quiet boulder, and I could hear him whistling with a blade of grass, softly, as we both greeted the sunrise. The other bandits were just waking up near the fire a ways off, but Bishop and I were the usual watchmen. We had been awake for a few hours when we finally saw him. He was a ragged dunmer, his skin lighter than most, but his build looked frail. He had a bit of nord blood in him, that was easy to tell. But both of us knew he was a poor kid when he swaggered up to the camp, doing his best to look like he belonged. Both of us knew this was his last resort, probably to pay someone’s bills. We figured out later it was for his mother. He got mixed up in some bad drug trades, and couldn’t get legitimate work after that. For some reason he decided joining a group of mercenaries was the next logical step. He was always a bit odd-- never really thought straight. I took him in, showed him how everything worked, and in return he sang.  _

_ He could’ve been a great bard. He used to be an understudy at the college, or that’s what he told me. He had a dusty lute he’d always fondly strum when we were alone, just the three of us around our small watch fire. If he hadn’t been caught by the college, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he ended up at the Palace. In fact, I’d have dragged him there myself if he was still alive. You know, it’s ironic. He went from being in a musical band to a band of mercenaries…  _

...

“Mercenary, huh?” Halfi reached over, pushing aside the remnants of my undershirt, exposing some faint scars I still had. “Makes sense. Go on.”

“Wait a second--”

“Your secret, Cas, isn’t a secret. It doesn’t need to be. The vigilants are behind you now.”

“It was the cause of my expulsion from High Rock’s chapter.”

“Do we look like High Rock?”

“...No.”

“There’s your answer. Keep going.” 

“Well...ah… Bishop and I were the...outcasts, I suppose. I can tell you about how we met?”

…

_ They didn’t like us too much. Then again, mercenaries never like each other. But Bishop, when I met him on a cold, snowy day, with the sun breaking off in sharp fractals on the white snow, I decided to stick with him. While he was annoying, and rude, he was a good partner. So we stuck together. We wouldn’t speak much, but it was easier to spend the nights with someone across the fire than just being alone. And we covered each other well in fights, which was the important thing. I could count on a quiet arrow over my shoulder, and every now and again I didn’t mind a sarcastic jab. He was even funny, occasionally. After a day of fighting, it was comforting to have someone hand me a bottle and tie a bandage or two. During the night watch he’d sharpen my blade for me, and I’d mend the armor.  _

_ And when Alis came that next spring, he joined us too. Us three, together. Bishop was the rude spokesman who was our thief, tactician, and really the more commanding one. I didn’t speak much back then. I was the violent one. And Alis...like I said, he was weak. Couldn’t even pull himself into a tree. He’d try, kicking with his spindly legs, and cracking up with laughter until Bishop finally grinned and helped him up with a snide insult. We didn’t mind helping him--he wasn’t like the others. He was a good kid. Not like us. We dragged him through mercenary life-- I’d haul him through the fights, and Bishop would save him when he angered the wrong warrior at camp. He was a better smooth-talker back then.  _

_ I guess that was Alis’s major downfall. That inexperience, even with as well as we taught him, never could protect him against the worst threat.  _

_ Back at the camp, returning from a day raid, we sat around our fire as we always did. But Bishop this time was on the ground. He was brushing Karnwyr, that mutt of his, with a spindly comb he had found on a noblewoman’s dresser, and the big dog was laying across both his and Alis’s lap. They didn’t really mind. Karnwyr liked Alis the most, right after Bishop. His huge head lolled happily in Alis’s hands, and they’d laugh together as Bishop and I took care of the work.  _

_ He asked all sorts of questions. I figured out a lot about Bishop just through Alis asking for me. He questioned everything. Where he had met Karnwyr, how he had domesticated him, where Bishop had learned to shoot a bow. Of course Bishop got angry.  _

_ “Quit asking questions, Alis. Mercenaries don’t reveal their hand unless it’s in a card game with money on the line. And even then, you lie.”  _

_ “Come on, Bishop. Don’t be like that! I’m just being curious. Can’t turn your dog into a weapon against ya, can I?” _

_ “I got him as a puppy. Simple as that. A dog’s only a dog because it’s raised by humans.” _

_ “But Karnwyr isn’t a dog.” _

_ “No, he’s a wolf.” _

_ “What kind of wolf?” _

_ “North huntsman. Shaggier, stronger, and faster than the ones down here.” Bishop poked the fire with a stick. I sat across from them, dumping water into the cast iron pot, not saying a word as I watched the two of them. The fire off of Alis’s face reflected in his eyes like the northern lights, and Bishop’s features looked warmer than usual. I hadn’t felt that calm in years. I just sat, whittling a new notch stick for myself since my old one had been filled. That was back when killing someone just meant a new notch and a coin or two.  _

_ Bishop brought out some arrow heads, rough ones he bought at a discount from some smithy. He pulled out a whetstone, too, and began to buff out a nice edge from the things. Alis watched every stroke his hand made, like an apprentice of sorts. Bishop noticed, but didn’t say anything. He did, however, get a huge grin on his face once Alis’s head bobbed back and forth. _

_ “Think fast!” Bishop’s hand ‘slipped’ as he made another pass with a dull arrowhead, hitting Alis straight in the chest. He barked a laugh in response, flipping it like a coin on his thumb. “Failed!” _

_ “You’re too quick for me, Bishop. You know that.” _

_ “Aye. But you’ll get faster. Once those spider legs of yours actually start doing things.” Bishop went back to sharpening. “You know, and don’t just have you stand like a sentry while there’s arrows coming at your face.” _

_ “You got the archer eventually!” _

_ “Not before I had a heart attack when one nicked your ear.” _

_ “Get to bed. Sun’s down fully. We don’t have watch.” I liked to ruin the fun, it seemed.  _

_ “Alright tall and mysterious, calm down. We were just talking. You know, that thing you don’t like to do.” Bishop pulled out his pack, throwing his blanket to the ground. “Lighten up a bit, Cas. Or your face will freeze in bitch mode forever.” _

_ Alis stifled a giggle. He respected me, but for some reason he was drawn to Bishop.  _

_ They both fell asleep so quickly. They nearly piled on top of one another, actually. Bishop wasn’t a light sleeper then. None of us were. The alcohol always put us in a lull, and Alis, even though he didn’t drink, slept like an orc once he was down. I tried to go to sleep that night, but something wasn’t letting me rest. And I think about an hour or so later I realized there was one less snore than there should have been. Alis was gone. I got up, didn’t wake Bishop, and looked around. A faint ‘thump’ ‘pwing’ ‘thump’ was off in the distance, and I followed. I wasn’t afraid of anything back then. The worst thing I had run into was a drugged khajit who knew some secret fighting technique, and even then fur can’t deflect swords. I stumbled through, quietly somehow, until I saw him in the clearing.  _

_ “Pwing -- thunk.” It sounded like Bishop shooting, but Alis’s hand was wrapped around the longbow. It was some cheap one he had gotten off some body, but he held it firmly and shot well. Like I said, Bishop tolerated him, since he was a good kid, and his boyish outlook on life made Bishop seem like...Gods, I can’t believe I’m about to say this...like a role model. Bishop was strong, independent, cocky...and his skills matched the attitude. He was the smooth rogue everyone wanted to be when they first held a sword. He was the battlefield genius who was always right. And while Alis looked to me as a friend, Bishop was his goal. Halfi… that’s the moment I really began to despise him. Which, Halfi, I know jealousy is a terrible sin to commit--” _

“You weren’t the same man, Cas. And I’m sure he looked up to you, too.”

“Right… I’m--sorry. I’ll continue.”

_ Our leader liked to send us three as a pair. I don’t know if he was hoping we’d die eventually or that he just realized we worked well together, but I don’t care. It was a place nearby, Gallows rock. As soon as Bishop and Alis woke we headed off, and I kept quiet about Alis’s night activities. I didn’t want to give Bishop the satisfaction. His actions didn’t deserve it. Neither did mine, truthfully, but I still had an inflated ego and wished to keep it that way. I was still fuming, but I think throughout our hike up I began to forgive him a bit. Bishop, after all, still had my back at the time. He had us both. Alis and I were the offense, Bishop was the protector. I was the main aggressor. I’d hack anyone to bits who was dumb enough to get close. Alis would protect me from arrows and magic and fight any mages who popped up. And Bishop was the linchpin that made everything run. The ranger, the tracker, the thief, and the mastermind. Despite the pent up hatred I had for him, I trusted him more and more every time he’d open the fort’s door from the inside, spinning the key smugly on his index finger. This time it was particularly easy. Wasn’t even midday, Halfi, when we breached that place. And it was filled to the brim with alcohol. Alis wasn’t a drinker. One cup in and he’d stumble around and hurl, but Bishop and I were alcoholics to the core. We drank everything while Alis checked the perimeter for anything of use, and by the time he got back, I couldn’t spell my name. Though in my drunken state, without anyone nearby I didn’t trust, I wasn’t up to fighting. I’m violent drunk, but then I was just content to whittle at the old tables, carving in little stick figures into the oak.  _

_ But Bishop… I don’t know what triggered his anger. The egotistical bastard probably said something about hanging on to him all the time, like he was Alis’s damn mother. I can’t remember anything; I was way too drunk to care. Alis didn’t fight back, he tried to calm Bishop down as best as he could, but Bishop was dead set on how Alis was just a copycat looking to turn himself into a bosmer him. He offered to sit Bishop down, get him water, something, but as soon as he touched that drunken heathen, Bishop took it as an opportunity to strike.  _

_ ‘Course when he got stabbed the first time that sobered me right up, but I couldn’t fight Bishop. He was full of holes before I even got Bishop to look at me. And when he did, he put a few holes in me, too. When I woke up the day after, he was gone. I was covered in my own blood and some of Alis’s too; with my only thoughts about how I never held him back. I buried Alis on the hillside, though it was a short funeral with only me presiding. That was when I finally turned my thoughts to the Gods, after I had fully put him to rest. I didn’t see him for a while. And when I did, it was never directly. He was only in the corner of my eye in a crowded market, or on the crest of a nearby hill. I thought I went crazy. I sobered up. I read book after book, something I had never done before. And every time I got a little bit smarter, I’d analyze something I could have done a little better. The nightmares kept me up at night, so I’d read by candlelight. Which would give me more nightmares. _

“You didn’t go to anyone?” She pulls me out of the daydream once more. 

_ I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t think I could. Even though I had put it all behind me I was still being hunted, after all. So I’d stay the night at an inn and leave, always moving. I grew tired of it all eventually. I thought about Bishop and Alis a lot. And eventually I knew I had to find him. It took me longer than I’d like to admit-- I wandered the forests of Skyrim for months trying to find him. At first I walked the roads, asking around for him, but I knew it’d be futile. Bishop, or at least the real one, isn’t found unless he wants to be. And one day as I was walking along, he decided a reunion was in order. _

_ I didn’t like it, but I acted as if I had put everything behind me. I didn’t tell him the reason I never slept was because of him, or that Alis had such a pained look on his face, but I wanted to. I gained his trust again, slowly, over the next few weeks. There was a cold gap between us, but I wanted to see if he even had the slightest bit of remorse inside him. I judged him to have absolutely none. And he was wanted more than I was… so I did the logical thing. I did something he’d do. He never expected something that well thought out from me. I only took direct methods before. But once the guards showed their faces and hauled him off, I didn’t feel much peace. Only emptiness. I don’t know if that would be filled if I killed him myself, or if it’ll never fully heal, but I still hate him to my core. I thought he was dead, but he ended up just tripping over the dragonborn. _

“And that, Halfi, is my story.” I pause, twiddling my thumbs. “Or...some of it, anyway.”

“He hasn’t changed?”

“Not one bit. Sure, Rowan keeps him held back, but once he realized her life was on the line, I saw old Bishop again like it was minutes after Alis passed.” I shake my head, rubbing the fresh sweat off my forehead. “And the notches… I...well...“

“What?”

“In Bishop’s bag, there’s a stick of notches. We used them for the body count-- that’s how we were paid. He put one last notch on that stick at Gallow’s rock, but there’s perfect space for one more.”

“But how--”

“He has it in his bag. I saw it when I looked through it in Solitude. Rowan had run into me by chance and somehow convinced me to heal him. He wanted me to see it. I knew he did. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want him to know how petrified it made me. And Halfi, I...that space-- it’s for me.” 

“Casavir…”

“I know it is! He always joked about it, back when that sort of humor was so common between us.” I grind my teeth, shutting my jaw. I’ve said too much. I can’t recover from this sort of blunder. It’s my blemish to carry; I can’t transfer it to my young partner. “I’m sorry, Halfi. I shouldn’t have passed this burden to you. It’s Bishop and I’s sin to die with. I just hope that by the end of this, the Gods would begin to forgive me for letting that boy and dozens like him die. And while I’ve come to terms with my life ending, I don’t think I can pass knowing it’s a matter of time before he kills Rowan, not to mention you and whoever’s unlucky enough to meet his wake.”

“Well Cas, you’re right. It is your fault.” Halfi raises an eyebrow, meeting my solemn gaze. A small, hopeful smirk plays with her lips. “But what are you going to do about it?”

“I...I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I think there’s a very easy way to end all this.”

“Halfi, there’s no way I can kill Bishop.”

“Not necessary. Though we can take everything from him.”

“He has nothing already. No material possessions, nothing special. No honor, no land, no wealth, nothing. The only thing important to him is Rowan.” I pause. “Oh...Halfi… The Vigilants condemn this…” 

“Remember what I said about my loyalty?” She takes a bow. “I was raised by the Vigilants, sure, but I don’t agree with how gung-ho they do everything. We can bend a few rules~ It’s nothing serious!”

“I’m not sure I like being this underhanded.”

“I’m fine with it. Besides, technically we’re helping Rowan, right? And TECHNICALLY, we’re helping Bishop’s soul.” She pauses. “I’ll do everything that’s questionable. You keep your honor, I prefer justice no matter what form it takes.”

“Halfi, I don’t want to lose the Vigilants. And they’re still your guardian...” 

“Who pointed you to us, Cas?”

“Rowan did, after an incident at Pinemoon Cave.” 

“Think of it as paying her back.”

“I suppose so…”

“Off the records. You’re doing this as Casavir, not a Vigilant of Stendarr. I’m sure the big guy would be forgiving for tying up some loose ends before going back to your pious ways.” 

“Halfi, I  _ really  _ don’t like this.” 

“Got a better idea?” I bite my lip so hard it bleeds into my mouth, the salty iron a pleasant recollection to replace the bad taste I have from this idea. 

“No, I suppose not.” I think about it for much longer than I’d like to admit. While I have no issues going behind Bishop’s back, going behind Rowan’s after all she’s given me is going to be more painful than I can predict now. But it’s the best for her, isn’t it? She won’t listen to reason and facts, and she likes to misinterpret any evidence I give her. She’s too loyal to Bishop. To sever that tie, the truth may need to be bent. And Halfi and I...are the perfect two to make this happen. I look to my hands, stained with red splashes, of whose I don’t know. I’ve seen this image in my nightmares for far too long. Would this bring me peace? It certainly would. Would it serve the greater good? I’d be saving the dragonborn from a cloak and dagger she’s taken in. It’s for the best. 

“Well?”

“Halfi, thank you for your help. I accept it.”

“Glad to hear. Cas, we got some planning to do before they get back. They’ll be here any minute, but I got an idea…”


	48. Pretty Infortant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish update to keep things rolling! Next update is going to be pretty crazy; if you're a fan of anger, angst, and some classic misdirection, stay tuned.

**Still Cas’s POV**

“Halfi...your sword...is so...damn heavy…” Rowan puffed as she entered the room once more. She slung it off her back, putting it in Halfi’s lap. “Phew! I tried running with that thing. Big mistake!”

“Yeah, I can’t run far with it on me. Though I prefer it over a sword and shield.” She says, using the blade to stand up. She reached her hand down to me, helping the injured man (me) to his feet.

“Where’s the ranger?” My eyes flick to the door.

“Oh he’s changing. Probably looting some stuff too. But I wanted to get Halfi her stuff.” She gets her breath back, stretching. “Should we make our way to the front?”

The two of them look at each other, then back to me.

“Rowan, I need to te--”

“Don’t worry, I’m right here~” Bishop winks from the doorway at me, earning himself a look of disgust. “Miss me?”

“Sure. I do get nervous when I don’t have vision on you.” I spit. Rowan helps me pick up the pieces of my armor, gently setting them into a bag she creates from her blanket.

“Both of you, please.” Halfi feigns, looking to Rowan. “ _I’ll stick with Casavir, you take care of Bishop._ ” She mouths. Rowan nods.

“Casavir, I’ll fix your armor when we get back to town. Okay?” She says. “I’ll make it good as new--”

“No need, my lady.”

“I insist.” She glares at Bishop for a second. “It’s my idiot’s fault, anyway.”

“His fault for connecting it with leather.” Bishop says non-chalantly.

“That’s how you pad iron armor for travel, bonehead.” She scolds. “Let’s head to the front. We still need to--” She freezes, pausing in place as she remembers Bartrun. “Right…”

“Halfi and I will take care of it.” I decide, feeling my heart twinge as I remember Bartrun. The time before we were dragged in here felt so surreal, I can’t help but half-hope it never happened.

“...Okay…” She pauses. “I need to collapse the tunnels. Bishop…”

“I’ll see if I can get our horses.” He rolls his eyes once Rowan stares at him. “I’ll be good, calm down. Have fun throwing fire.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll start with the wing Halfi and I were in…” She mutters as she climbs up the slope again, leaving the three of us alone on the ice floor. We all take a rain check for a few moments as Rowan’s footfalls echo away from us, denoting she’s long gone.

“...How ya’ doin?” Bishop says awkwardly, and he’s only met with stares from us two. “Alright, alright. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. I’m sorry. There, happy?” He sighs, and pulls out my knife from his belt. He holds it out to me, handle side towards me, refusing to meet my eyes. “Sharpened and cleaned it.”

“I can’t exactly forgive you.” I grumble, taking the knife and returning it to its holster.

“I can’t really make amends, can I?” He says in his same, uncaring voice I hate. Halfi intervenes before we get a chance to squabble further.

“Let’s just...get to the surface. This place gives me the creeps.” Halfi shivers.

…

“Where was Bartrun? He passed?” Halfi asks as we finally reach the entrance, crossing the threshold into the sunshine.

“Unfortunately, yes. I covered him from the elements, but we needed to get you out.” I risk a side-glance at Bishop. He’s relatively normal now; that trace of insanity that gripped him during our fight is gone. He knows Rowan’s safe, and it makes all the difference. It’s a terrible sin, but I can’t help but feel a little excited to take everything away from him.

Where did my knightly qualities go? Though I suppose that armor came off with my physical coverings. I’ll regain them once I know Bishop is no longer a threat. But a part of my grey matter still nags me, telling me to face off with Bishop directly instead of using this route.

...That voice shuts up once I realize he could drag others into it if I did duel him. Not to mention I don’t have any chance of winning. Just war needs to have a probable cause of success; because of my skills, I no longer have that.

I think I’m just coming up with reasons to go along with Halfi’s plan.

“Man, it feels good to be outside again.” Bishop stretches, not at all concerned with the stoic atmosphere around Halfi and I over our friend’s passing. I had only met him a few times, but as a brother in arms, it still feels crushing.

“‘Suppose.” Halfi grunts. Bishop pauses, finally getting the awkwardness. His gaze squints a bit, and that damn perception of his is beginning to make him suspect something odd. But I’m sure he can’t expect the magnitude of what we’re going to do.

We reach the campsite, and the carnage hits us again in an unadulterated rage. The beds are ripped, bodies littered around the dead fire, and a wolf stands over Bartrun’s body.

“Why you--!” I begin, drawing my sword. “Hey!” The wolf doesn’t budge.

“That’s Karnwyr, you dope.” Bishop sighs, whistling a bit. “He was protecting the place.” The wolf comes running over, full speed, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a shaggy farm dog. He bounds at Bishop first, then at Halfi, curiously sniffing her hands and knees, and finally the wolf stops in front of me. Bishop takes the opportunity to retrieve his pack, but it’s obvious he’s stealing glances to see what I do.

I expected the wolf to growl, but his ears perked up happily and he barked once, twice, and then looked to Bishop.

He just rolled his eyes.

Karnwyr yapped more, thinking I just didn’t see him. Dumb mutt.

“Pup; over here. Air’s a bit tense.” Bishop calls, letting Karnwyr trot back over.

“Bishop…” Halfi says calmly. “Can you please give Casavir and I some privacy? We need to prepare Bartrun.”

“Just don’t take too long.” He takes one last side-glance at me before turning around, the wolf hot on his heels as he walks back towards the vampire castle. Before he leaves he gives a shrill whistle, as if calling something, but after a few moments he walks on. He’s going to wait for Rowan, and hopefully she takes her time…

“He’s gone.” She says at last.

“Don’t bet on it. He could be listening.” I say in a hushed tone. “He’d be the one to do it, too.”

“I think he’s trying to call their horses. But--sheesh. If only Rowan knew how handy those shouts of hers were…” She sighs, keeping her voice down. “I wish I could check for living things around me.”

“I know. I envy her power. It’s surely a gift.” I dip my head, clasping my hands in front of me. “So your plan?”

“Help me prepare Bartrun. I’ll take him to Falkreath and get everything prepared; the priest there should take care of the rest for the Vigilant’s plot. He didn’t have any family?”

“No; Vigilant raised.” I pause. “You weren’t done, were you?”

“Well, after that, I’ll only slip off to my favorite tavern and pick up a letter or two. Hopefully Rowan didn’t wreck the place too bad.”

“Halfi, I’m still not--”

“Come on, Cas, it’ll be fine. She trusts us both, and really it’s a white lie for her own good.” She shrugs. “When I met Rowan at the forge, Bishop was skulking about. I got a bad feeling from him from the start. He was way too attached to her, and unattached from the entire damn town. It just seemed like the people and houses were an obstacle. Trust me, I didn’t need much convincing to believe you when you said he’d be the death of her.”

“You are a good friend, Halfi.” I bow my head. “I wish I could be the same.”

“Aw, come on, Cassidy! You’re a great man.” She slaps my shoulder. “Now let’s lighten up, eh? We have a job to do. Bartrun would kill _us_ instead if he knew we were moping around on some little death. Guy was a hardass and a bit of a bastard, but he was a vigilant. We carry on.”

“Halfi--language!”

“Alright, Captain A. Calm down.”

“What?”

“...Nevermind.” She sighs, tightening her belt and running her fingers through her brownish red hair, taming it after the long fight. “Ready? Say the word and we can forget all of this. But I’m willing to do it, if it means putting your mind at rest and saving our kind-hearted dragonborn.”

I stare into her gold-flecked eyes for a long while, sighing. She reaches up and tucks a stray lock of my raven hair behind my ear, shyly smiling as she returns to her stance, feet planted under her shoulders as she crosses her arms. My warrior partner is headstrong. I only wish I could be that sure in my actions.

If Rowan finds out, I could lose all ties with her, and since the fair lady is my benefactor, that would never sit well with me. I picture her face, saddened at my betrayal trying not to frown as her blue eyes stare back, saying nothing and yet everything at once. I don’t wish to disappoint her--I’ve done it too many times already. Pinemoon Cave, the dragon, the gargoyles, and even with my clash with Bishop.

And may Arkay watch us if Bishop finds out. While I do not fear my deliverance to death, I will not let Halfi’s life become intertwined with my struggle of stale blood. If that should happen, I’d rather unshackle the side of me I’ve had locked away than have her hurt. Even if she detests me to the grave, it’s better than her believing I was always of pure heart.

But if this works… then Bishop would undo himself. If he owns up to it, Rowan sees him for who he really is. If he rejects it, then his temper will end him. Or he would find himself on the end of Rowan’s sword, which is how his life should have ended before I found him in Solitude. At the very least, it would break the two of them apart. Rowan needs that. The dragonborn can’t be distracted. She’s too brilliant for someone like Bishop to be tagging along, polluting her.

“I know you’re over thinking it.” She taps her foot. “Casavir, I’m with you. Quit thinking you’re all alone in this-- it’s okay. We got this.” I steel my heart, slowly, coming to terms with what I need to do.

“Fine.” I nod. “I will beg forgiveness from Stendarr later.”

“Saving his chosen one is a bit more important.” Halfi grins. “Ah, mischief. How I love it!”

“Halfi--”

“Hey, I’m being honest.”

***

**Rowan (For good--or at least for a while!)**

“Phew…” I flop to the ground outside the fort. Flames burst out the front door, breaking down the tattered flag that flies above the entrance. I watch it burn to cinders from the ground. Ash and smoke pours from the doors, spinning off into the heavens.

“Tired? That must have been a hell of a lot of fire.” Bishop looms over me. A shaggy face pops up in my vision right after, drool coming dangerously close to my nose.

“Gah! Wolf!” I jump to my feet, steadying myself on Bishop’s shoulder as the world spins. “Took a lot out of me.”

“How did you get the entire thing? I didn’t think mages could ever have that much magic.”

“Yeah...well… Dragonborn.” I say, dusting the ash off my armor. “I’m special!” It’s actually because I absorbed Pioth’s power, but hey. He’s gone now. It’s my power now! “Weren’t you with the other two?”

“They’re attending to Bartrun. I left them alone. Also, I don’t know where the horses are.” He stretches in the retreating sunlight. “Now that the vampire crisis is over, where are we going?”

“Well, I have to fix Casavir’s armor, and I was going to improve it as a thank you, but after that, I don’t know. Maybe travelling more.”

“Ladyship--”

“Without them.” I finish. “Calm. I just have to pay Cas back after you wrecked his armor. We’re not becoming a vigilant, and we’re not staying with them. It’s pretty obvious you two are incapable of working together properly.”

“It makes sense when you think about it. I’m a ranger, and I use a bow, so I’m long range and he’s an utter piece of shit I hate. It’s obvious we can’t work together. Understand?”

“I think I’m going to need a diagram and a peer-reviewed paper.”

“I’ll get right on that, after I finish re-enacting the Oblivion Crisis.”

“Considering how much Cas hates you, he would think you’re serious.”

“I’d do it, too, if only to piss him off. Though I’d have to make sure you’re out of reach, and I’m not smart enough to figure out how to do that.”

“Shadow portal.” I shrug.

“Now I have something to do Tuesday.” He grins. I stare at him for a few seconds before turning back to the burning fort, the flames cleansing the inside and leaving the stony outer shell behind.

“Think that’s burned long enough?”

“I mean the fire reached the top of the guard tower. That’s pretty impressive.”

“A tower on top of a fort full of vampires?”

“Rowan no--”

“A vamp-spire?”

**“I’m walking away.”**

***

“I think we should split up with them.” He pauses. “It’s pretty awkward now.”

  
“I still need to repair Cas’s armor. They won’t be with us much when they’re taking care of Bartrun anyway.”

“I guess so.” He shrugs.

“Did you just...agree with me?”

“Don’t get used to it.” Bishop smirks. “I’m just in a good mood today.”

“Why?” I ask, still facing forward. He grabbed my arm, tugging me off balance and tilting me into his arms, making me bend backwards and look up at his face. “Um.”

“Don’t know. But I’m glad you didn’t kill me when we first met.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t let me get murdered all those times. Or become a forsworn.” I brush my knuckles along his cheekbone, watching his eyes smolder from above me. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

“More than a team.” He grins with a smug smile, eyes drifting a bit south onto my bust. “After all, I’ve seen you naked.”

“That you have.”

“Ah, the blush returns! How I’ve missed it.” He helps me stand upright again, but I have other plans; I drag my hands down to the back of his neck, pulling myself up on his strength too fast so our lips crash together. I hold him there, slowly, breathing him in for what seems like the first time in ages. It’s the first time in a long where we haven’t had something pressing us to keep moving, or the watchful eyes of another; and I’m not about to waste the time on walking back!

He’s as gentle but unpredictable as always, and I feel the weeks apart melt away finally. We part at last, and I open my eyes only to press my cheek against his chest, firmly wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Being with the Paladin really shuts down all our chances, doesn’t it?” He says at last, not budging when I try and pull away from him.

“Yeah, but considering he’s only been in this story twice and he’s saved us both times, I’m fine with that.”

“What?”

“I should write a memoir of the Dragonborn. Book-ception.”

“Ladyship, seriously, you always just have these moments where you get high--” He pauses. “Were you ever a skooma addict?”

“They’re not drug flashbacks.” I roll my eyes. “We should get back to them. We all need to get to Falkreath before dark. Think the horses are around?”

“Probably not. I don’t think they’d be near the mountain.”

“Well, guess we’re going the old fashioned way.”

“Great...walking.” he sighs, smoothing his hair. By doing so, a sprig pops up on his crown, like a stubborn palm tree. I giggle, pressing it back down to neatness.

“Yeah. But hey-- we don’t have to worry about vampires anymore!”

“Too soon, Rowan. Much too soon.”

“I’m not going to apologize.”


	49. Who let Iago into this story?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of misdirection and lies; have fun!

“I think we should split up with them.” He pauses. “It’s pretty awkward now.” The leaves crunching under our two pairs of boots is all too familiar to us. Even on the short walk back to the camp things have settled back into their usual rhythm, including our usual banter. My shoulders drop and I even feel sleepy as we trudge on; lulled by the routine. 

“I still need to repair Cas’s armor. They won’t be with us much when they’re taking care of Bartrun anyway.” 

“I guess so.” He shrugs.

“Did you just...agree with me?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” Bishop smirks. “I’m just in a good mood today.” 

“Why?” I ask, still facing forward. He grabbed my arm, tugging me off balance and tilting me into his arms, making me bend backwards and look up at his face. “Um.” His face is surrounded by the climbing pines of the forest, framing his smug countenance in deep viridian. 

“Don’t know. But I’m glad you didn’t kill me when we first met.” He breathes. 

“And I’m glad you didn’t let me get murdered all those times. Or become a forsworn.” I brush my knuckles along his cheekbone, watching his eyes smolder from above me. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

“More than a team.” He grins with a smug smile, eyes drifting a bit south onto my bust. “After all, I’ve seen you naked.” 

“That you have.” I tip my head to him in acknowledgement, somewhat refusing to dwell on the idea.

“Ah, the blush returns! How I’ve missed it.” He helps me stand upright again, but I have other plans; I drag my hands down to the back of his neck, pulling myself up on his strength too fast so our lips crash together. I hold him there, slowly, breathing him in for what seems like the first time in ages. He smells like smoke and leather; something I’m the cause of. It’s the first time in a long where we haven’t had something pressing us to keep moving, or the watchful eyes of another; and I’m not about to waste the time on walking back!

He’s as gentle but unpredictable as always, and I feel the weeks apart melt away finally. We part at last, and I open my eyes only to press my cheek against his chest, firmly wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“Being with the Paladin really shuts down all our chances, doesn’t it?” He says at last, not budging when I try and pull away from him. 

“Yeah, but considering he’s only been in this story twice and he’s saved us both times, I’m fine with that.”

“What?” 

“I should write a memoir of the Dragonborn. Book-ception.”

“Ladyship, seriously, you always just have these moments where you get high--” He pauses. “Were you ever a skooma addict?”

“They’re not drug flashbacks.” I roll my eyes. “We should get back to them. We all need to get to Falkreath before dark. Think the horses are around?”

“Probably not. I don’t think they’d be near the mountain.”

“Well, guess we’re going the old fashioned way.”

“Great...walking.” he sighs, smoothing his hair. By doing so, a sprig pops up on his crown, like a stubborn palm tree. I giggle, pressing it back down to neatness. 

“Yeah. But hey-- we don’t have to worry about vampires anymore!”

“Too soon, Rowan. Much too soon.”

“I’m not going to apologize.”

***

“So Halfi is where?” I ask, measuring Casavir’s torso with my measuring string. We’re back at the forge in Falkreath; the sunlight in the evening hurts my eyes as I breathe in the scent of pine and burning coal. Bishop is precariously perched on the bannister as usual, his back pressed against an oak pillar. He fiddles with his bow and an arrow like a testy violinist, watching my movements carefully. He’s kept a watchful eye ever since we got back; I can’t understand why and he’s barely budging. 

I’d interrogate him if I didn’t have things to do. 

“She’s taking care of things with Bartrun. And...my lady… you don’t need to remake my armor…!” Casavir blushes profusely as I pull the string taut around his thigh. “Rowan… I can do it myself, if that would be alright--” 

“I’m not going to remake it. But I bet I can make it fit better than it ever has.” I look up at him, watching the blush turn even more red. He’s so pure. “Casavir, I’m just taking measurements. Don’t worry, your armor is in good hands.” 

“Well aren’t you just cocky.” Bishop chimes in from atop the banister of the forge. “If you want, I can add in my own c-” I threw one of Casavir’s shoulder pieces at him before he could finish, listening to the satisfying crash that came with hitting the ranger with a piece of metal.

“Bishop…!” Cas said, no longer feeling the need to reprimand him.

“Ah...hear that Cas? It’s the sound of Bishop shutting up.”

“Not for long!” Bishop pulled himself back onto the balcony, brushing the leaves off of him after his fall. “Were you giving this to me? So I can do what I want with it?”

“No--give it back.” I walk over to him, watching him idly bounce the piece in his hand. 

“But you threw it at me.”

“Yeah but--”

“And I want to throw it.” He smirks. “So I’m going to. Go fetch, Ladyship!” He twists around, bringing himself to a kneeling position on the bannister, and lobs the piece of armor far off into the underbrush of the woods.

“Bishop--!”

“Don’t throw things at me then.”

“Don’t run your mouth like you own the place, then!”

“Better hurry, Love. You know spiders like shiny things.” 

“You fucking--” I huff, clenching my fists and shaking my head. I should make him go get it…

“And I’m not going to get it. You’re the one who needs it, after all.” He lays down comfortably on the railing, nestling his head on his crossed arms.

“I hate you.” I snarl, jumping over the railing and sprinting off into the woods.

…

“Because that wasn’t obvious.” Casavir snorts.

“Leave the sarcasm to me, tin can.” Bishop spits, immediately hopping off the banister and drawing his knife. Of course he would never point it out to Rowan, but he did like to keep it hidden under the nifty faulds of his new armor. “I know you’re up to something. And I’ll say one thing; back off and let it go, or else I’m going to replace one of your vertebrae with my knife.” 

“Aren’t you just scary.” Casavir leans against the wall of the blacksmith’s house, making sure to keep a wary eye on the blade. “I don’t know what you mean, Ranger. I’m just waiting on my armor.”

“You’re lucky there’s no grey clouds anywhere, Paladin.”

“Unlike you, I’m not a liar.” 

“But you can bend the truth.” 

“Why would I? In a few days, I’ll never have to see you again.”

“And if I do see you...expect a fight.”

“I plan on it.” Casavir glares. Bishop narrows his eyes at the Paladin’s confidence, and he feels uncertainty flare up. He shoves it back down to his core.

“Cas...don’t do this. Two days and we never have to see each other.”

“I already said, Ranger, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit-- I know you’re going to do something. I’m sure you’re justifying it with some self-righteous reason like ‘Bishop doesn’t deserve to be happy’ or some other lame excuse.”

Casavir stayed silent for a few moments, mulling over his options.

“I’m not saying that I’m planning on anything, but you don’t, Bishop.” 

“Oh shut the hell up.” He snarled. 

…

Thankfully, the sound of me crunching through the leaves broke the two apart, sending them back to their designated corners. Just as they settled back in, pretending as if they had only been idly standing, I hopped over; panting slightly. 

“What, get bored and decide to run a marathon, or have you been drinking too much?”

“Had to fight a bear to get it back.” I snort as I lean on the table.

“My lady--you didn’t even have armor--!” Casavir steps forward. “Are you unharmed? Someone should have gone with you…!” 

“Oh, I’m fine.” I stretch, sighing blissfully as my back cracks. “I just sent a few arrows through its snout and ran.”

“That must have been difficult. I apologize.”

“Yeah--I  _ bearly  _ got away.” 

“See, I saw that one coming.” Bishop called from where he lay on the banister again. “You really need to step up your game, Ladyship. The puns aren’t as funny as they used to be.”

“Yeah yeah…  _ bear  _ with me, I’ll think of some better ones.”

“...You’re getting the hang of this rather quickly. Now then...what’s with these? Don’t tell me you’re one of those nuts who thinks that rocks have healing purposes or something? ” He smirked, using his sword to poke a few blackened rocks I had on the workbench. To his confusion, the rock stuck to the end of his steel sword--and no amount of shaking would get it off. “The hell!?”

“Bishop, master of the bow, idiot of everything else.” I sigh, plucking the rock from his sword with a lot of effort. “They’re magnetic rocks. And very, very powerful ones at that. They’re lodestones.” I set it back onto the workbench with a heavy thump. These things are heavy and expensive. The last thing I want is one of them going through the floor. 

“And you have them...why?”

“Cas’s armor.” I answer, inlaying the crevices of his armor with the resin and lodestone mixture. It’ll take some time to dry, but once it does, the edges of his armor should have no trouble sticking together. Without the use of exposed leather; something he definitely needs. And if in an emergency he needs to strip it off he can do so, granted it’ll take a bit of effort. 

“For what, if I may ask?” He steps up, watching me guide the resin into the troughs I made along the edges of his chestpiece. 

“I’ll show you!” I bring two finished pieces together, letting them stick at the seams. The lodestone is an extension of the armor itself, bridging the gap of the leather and keeping it together. Casavir watches the armor, pulling the two pieces apart in wonder. He sticks them together again, draping the shoulder and breastplate combo over him to test the fit. Sure enough, the leather pads is enough to keep it comfortable, but the magnets let it pull apart in an emergency. He tries to pry the two parts in vain, until he finally gives enough power to tear them apart; it isn’t easy. I turn back to my work, punching hundreds of stitching holes into the sheets of leather I cut out. The resin will need time to cure, but for now I’ll busy myself with this pseudo-sewing. 

“She’s in the zone. She isn’t going to reply at all.” Bishop’s eyes flicker back to Casavir, loathing glittering from under his oculars. “May as well get back to that Vigilant work, right?”

“I’d tell you to attend to your duties as well, but it seems as if you don’t have any.”

“That’s a good thing, iron maiden. Now shoo--I’ll be sure to protect her from any bears.” 

“Right. Good day to you both.” Casavir straightened, giving a short nod towards me, and walks off.

“So the sexual tension is still high between you two?” I ask, stitching the leather padding together. I finish the last stitch on the leg boots in minutes, tying it off, pleased. I’ve done good work on this armor. Once the resin dries, It’ll be all finished. 

“You could say that.” Bishop sat on the banister, watching my hand movements. I shape the resin and lodestone carefully, being sure to use my measurements to ensure it fits even better than before. 

“After all, you did try to kill him like a psychopath.”

“...I thought I avoided this.” He sighs, smoothing his hair. “What, going to reprimand me? It was a prisoner’s dilemma-- attacking him was my only option.”

“You listened to a vampire telling you to kill Casavir.” I look up, putting the leather back down on the smooth marble workbench. “Bishop...even if you had killed Casavir, they wouldn’t have released me or Halfi.”

“How could I have been sure?” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t want to take that chance.” 

“Because it’s a vampire and they can consume as much blood as they wish.” I roll my eyes. “Casavir knew that--you didn’t.”

“Then he should have told me.” Bishop snaps quickly. He’s beginning to lose his temper. He’s either embarrassed about this...or there’s something more. “It isn’t my fault!”

“Bishop, why the hell did you jump at the chance to fight him?”

“Because I was being rational.”

“No you weren’t. You were being anything but rational.”

“I thought you were stuck in a box, and I wanted you out.” Karnwyr snakes out from behind the bushes, curious about his master’s flaring temper. 

“Don’t try and pin this on me, Bishop.” I say, punching holes a bit more aggressively.  

“Ladyship, keep going and I’m going to get irritated.”

“That’s fine.” I pull my needle through the leather. “Bishop, what’s your connection to a Holy Paladin? And why do you constantly try to kill each other?”

“You know we were mercenaries, Rowan--leave it at that!”

“Yeah--bad blood is one thing; this is another. This kind of hatred is above just bad partners.” I set my tools down, standing slowly so I can watch him. “Bishop...what the hell happened between you two? It wasn’t just a bad battle or two.” 

“Rowan, shut the hell up.”

“Bishop, let me into those memories of yours. I’ve been able to counsel others; I know I can help--”

“Who the hell did you counsel? Vorstag and Apolinus? Because they just worked out  _ so  _ well!” He yells, daring me to match him. I do.

“I think it’s less of my ability to make things better, and more about how you’re just too damn scared to try and explain any of it!” I grit my teeth.

“Scared!?” How about I just don’t want to fucking talk about it, okay!? Mind your own God damn business--I don’t want to talk!” He steps forward towards me. I instinctually summon a dagger to defend myself-- why did I do that? It’s just...Bishop. My brows knit together as I take a step back, trying to put distance between us both. 

“And why not? Apparently it’s been haunting you-- don’t you trust me? I’m not going to betray you, you asshole--!” 

“This isn’t just something you can trust someone with, Rowan!” 

“I trusted you with myself, Gods knows why, and you can’t even trust me back!?”

“Rowan! For fuck’s sake--!” His tone makes it seem like a lupine growl, eyes alive with anger from behind his amber oculars. I...was actually stunned for a second. We both stare at each other for a few moments, him in silence and me with a hand twitching to form a bow.

“...” I make a small noise that resembles words, but it was too low even I couldn’t hear it. 

“I’m...going hunting.” He says, looking away from me, lost in his thoughts. I say nothing as he vaults over the railing and skulks into the forest, Karnwyr hot on his heels. The wolf takes one last look behind him to me, almost apologetically, letting them fade into the green. The setting sun just makes the scene more eerily creepy. We’ve never really fought before… this is an odd feeling. 

“Uh...Rowan?” Halfi asks, creeping up the stairs quietly.

“Sorry you had to see that.” I sigh, tightening my ponytail. “I...have Cas’s armor. I can take it to him now. And...we usually don’t fight, but--” I haul up the pieces of his armor, snapping them together into the familiar parts. I wrap them in a spare blanket, cushioning the magnets from sticking to each other.

“It’s the past thing.” She holds up a bottle of Colovian brandy, putting it into my hands gently. “I understand.”

“He’s usually--” I start.

“Don’t explain.” She shakes her head. “They all act like that on the outside. It usually takes a few months and then they show the real side of them. I understand all too well.” She uncorks a bottle of mead, kicking it back while sitting on my workbench.

“The...real side?” I go back to my craft in the fading sunlight. “Sounds like some stupid lover’s tome--”

“I used to hang around Riften a lot. One of my friends worked at the Temple of Mara. She always told me about the year rule.”

“Year rule? The hell?”

“Ninety percent of newlyweds hate each other’s guts after a year.” She smirks, rolling her eyes. “I think she may have inflated the number, but it’s true.”

“Well…” I pause, swirling my brandy. “I wouldn’t say that--”

“No, it is. It takes one year, then they flip to the normal personality. They’re done courting, and the real face comes on. Doesn’t matter if you’re married to them or not--as long as you’re near them. She told me they  _ all  _ turn eventually. Husbands, workers, bosses, you name it.”

“I guess it makes sense. But-- we’ve been with each other for...a bit over...a year. Fuck.”

“Yep.” She says sadly. “It’s just how it is, Rowan. I’m sorry. But…”

“What?”

“Rowan, me and Casavir have some things we’d like to tell you.”

“If it’s about up at Bloodlet Throne, I’ll apologize with the armor.”

“It isn’t that.” She stood up, her elven features prominent in the low light. She looked serious, and apologetic, and… anxious. No one with a sword that large strapped to their back ever acts anxious. “From one swordswoman to another, you’re going to have to trust me about what we’re going to tell you.”

“Trust, huh?” I sigh, looking up. I push off the backing, taking a long swig of my brandy before heading towards the two steps of the forge. “Alright… where is he?”

“In our room at the tavern.” She says, and again I hear the anxiousness in her voice. Whatever it is, they’re worried on how I’ll react. “And...prepare yourself, please. I know you’re already upset, but…”

“I’ll be okay.” I chuckle.

“If you’re sure.” She says ominously. I pick up the armor and follow her to the inn, relieved once we finally see the familiar glow from the windows. She opens the door for me and leads me to one of the single rooms. Casavir sits on the bed next to a leather pack I immediately identify as Bishop’s. I set the armor down on the bed awkwardly, flipping open the blanket to show him.

The room is dusty and smells faintly of clean steel and fresh linen. Casavir immediately stands sheepishly as I enter the room, nodding to me politely despite his injuries. 

“Your armor, Paladin.” I say. “This should save you the burden of having to redo the leather bindings each time.”

“Thank you, Rowan. You’re talented beyond my understanding. This world is blessed to have such a Dragonborn.” He smiles gently, looking to me with kind eyes. He looks so tired. 

“How are you healing?” 

“I’m fine, my lady, but thank you.” His hand snaps to the pale wrappings along his side and arms, and I can see the understains of deep red. Casavir is more strong-willed than I could ever imagine. Knife lacerations hurt more than sword lacerations in the same way a paper cut does. And a knife wielded by Bishop… 

“I’m so sorry, Casavir.” I step closer to him, watching him recoil. He wasn’t expecting me to get so close. My hands dart down without my permission and tighten his bandages, and I earn myself a short thanks. 

“It wasn’t you who did it, Rowan.” Halfi shuts the door quietly, throwing a few nasty looks to onlookers in the tavern. 

“But I’m responsible for him--”

“He’s not a child, Rowan. I don’t know how you can think his actions are on you.” Halfi cuts me off. She nervously looks towards the window, shaking her head gently as the blue backdrop of the night sky slowly rises. “I don’t like the thought of him out there…”

“Neither do I, but this was convenient.” Cas responds ominously. “My lady, how well do you think you know Bishop?”

“And we mean  _ really  _ know Bishop.” Halfi tacks on as she leans against the closed oak door. 

“Why? What is this all about? Why do you have his bag?” I pause, collecting my thoughts together. Halfi is against the door so I don’t leave in a fit of emotion. Casavir, as chivalrous as he is, has a dour look written on his face. In the light of the night I see his slanted eyes, worried by something. “Casavir… I’m going to need an explanation.”

“My lady… I’m sorry but…the explanation comes after.” He pauses, looking away from me for a few moments. “How well do you think you know Bishop?”

“Think? No-- I know Bishop.” I cross my arms. “I know him well enough to trust him with my life. Now tell me what this is about before--”

“Are you sure?” Casavir asks, cutting me off gently. Without breaking eye contact with me, his hand opens Bishop’s pack, delving into an unseen pocket and throwing the contents on the bed. “Absolutely sure?”

There were at least six of them.

My heart sunk.

I was silent as I stared at them, trying to burn a hole in them or set them on fire with my mind so they’d go away. I feel my hand shake as I pick up one of them, then the other, letting out a short laugh. The dates don’t match. The dates don’t match!

“No, they’re all old. They’re really old.” I laugh again, scratching my neck. “Phew! I nearly got worried.” I set them back. “They’re nearly a year old, so--”

“Rowan.” Halfi says gently, calling me back.

“Check them all.” Casavir looks away.

Second Seed, nearly a year ago. A thousand. For a lock of my hair for some doll. “For stronger curses; the articles of a God are hard to come by, so this is a substitute. Please try to keep all the strands even with each other.” 

Two Mid years. Three months before we met. Also a thousand. The other was five hundred. Both for a kill. One was a renewed version of Thonar’s. The other was a name I didn’t recognize.

One Sun’s Height. One months before we met. Another thousand. For some of my blood-- “enough to fill a medium sized potions bottle.” No reason why on that one.

One from Hearthfire. That’s when we met. A bit after. Two thousand. Another kill. From the City of Markarth.

 

One last one lay on the bottom of the pile, suggesting it was the last shoved in. Its gilded edges made me too scared to pick it up. My hand just...wouldn’t reach for it. I had to clench my fist for a moment to even get any feeling back from my fingers, as if they had been frozen solid. 

I finally get it between two fingers, reeling it back into my hands as if it was going to explode. The moments feel like as hours as I push open the page, unfolding the letter’s clean crease. The wax seal it was stamped with had begun to flake off from wear. It had a bit of water damage from something being spilt on it, and it had seeped into the ink. It ran in a sloppy blotch all the way to the top of the page, as if hastily dried. 

 

Sun’s Height. Five Thousand. The name was unreadable on this one.

 

I exhale every pent up fear that had begun to creep into me at that one moment. It’s fine; that little bit of overlap was expected. I knew he was going to keep at least one in his pocket. He’s sensible like that. My heart finally starts to calm itself as I realize this one is from a month before we met. That’s fine. That’s expected.

“We hadn’t met when this one was--”

“Look closer, Rowan.” Halfi says gently. Despite my brain’s warning not to, I opened the page again, not willing to look. But I did. I searched the page again, and…

 

It wasn’t Sun’s Height. The water had made the ‘D’ turn into more of a blocky smudge I saw as a ‘H’. Sun’s Dawn. Last month. Ten thousand. The fragmented crest on the front all of a sudden became much too familiar, suddenly resembling a hawk’s spread wings. Ondolemar was pathetically trying to find me again like this?  **Like** **_this_ ** !?

 

“I…” I begin, my mouth not forming words. “He probably just picked this up when we were at the tavern a week or so back, clearing my bounties. If he was planning on trying something, he’d be taking bounties more steadily, right?” But why wouldn’t he tell me about it? Why keep it hidden where I couldn’t find it?

They’re both silent.

“...Right?”

“Rowan, I’m going to tell you a story. Will you listen?”

“I…” I stumble backwards for a moment, catching myself last minute as the dark room spins around me. I stabilize myself on the wall slowly, hand half on my chest, half on my neck so I can feel my own pulse. I just recovered from vampirism… my heart isn’t up to this!

“Rowan, you’re safe here.” Halfi speaks, stepping away from the door. She gently takes my shoulder, but frankly I don’t feel it; nor do I notice her help me sit down on the bed. All those times with my back turned towards him. All those times I had my eyes closed as I washed my face. All those times in the night when our bodies overlapped. 

My heart lurches again.

“No-- I don’t want to hear it, Casavir, I just--don’t.” I shut my eyes for a moment as I breathe out. “I trust Bishop. If he had wanted to do something, he had a million opportunities to do so.”

“Rowan…” Halfi begins, but her voice dies as she looks to Casavir.

“You may not want to… but you need to hear this, Rowan.” He says gently. “It’s the story you’ve been waiting for Bishop to tell you.” I pause, breathing out slowly and mentally preparing myself for whatever it is he may say.

 

***

By the time Casavir was finished speaking, the window had turned completely black, with the stars no longer visible. The late-night fog that Falkreath was known for rolled in, wafting by the windows and down the streets, turning the visibility outside to zero. Mehrune himself could attack and we would be blind to it.

We all linger in silence, with Cas’s story hanging above me like a knife on a spindly thread. I feel sick. I feel tired. And I feel especially pissed off. All the suspense, secrecy, and lying for that? To cover up something he did in a drunken rage? It was a heinous crime and one he deserves to be beat into the ground for, but I believe he’s changed. 

“I know that it’s terrible, I still believe he’s changed. He doesn’t drink that much, and he does keep his anger in check--”

“Was he ‘keeping his anger in check’ when you two were at the forge?” Halfi asks. I fall silent, fiddling with my belt. I can’t say anything back.

“Rowan… you know mercenaries get paid by the kill, right?” 

“Yes?”

“Do you know how they keep track?”

“No.” My heart sinks even further. “Probably some sort of counter--”

“Notches.” He rummages in Bishop’s bag for a few seconds, bringing out a long, whittled down stick full of ‘v’ shaped notches cut deep into the wood; nearly all the way through. Hundreds of them seemed to pocket the stick’s surface, but none crossed into the top section. A deep line was cut all around the circumference of the stick near the top, giving a little bit of space clean of cuts. “Bishop was meticulous about his. I’d just use any old thing, but he took pride in it.” He handed it to me, letting me see the old and new notches. I ran my hand along the former oak branch, noticing how it’s been whittled down to perfection; I run no risk of splinters. But I’m curious about the ring free from notches-- was it just a handle? But it was too small.

“What’s this?” I ask, showing Casavir the bare spot.

“That’s space for you and I.” He says casually. “It’s for either really important kills or people you really hate. For him, mainly hate.” 

“For us, huh?” I slump back in the chair.

“Why else would he keep that place clean? He doesn’t have anyone else. You’d only mark an area off if you were expecting to kill someone you’d want to remember. My lady, while I can’t prove anything to you other than what I’ve just said, you need to listen to me if you wish to complete your duties as Dragonborn. You’re travelling with a murderer. He killed his friend, someone he had been with for much longer than you two have been travelling for, over a bit of drunkenness. He had been very close with Alis, too, before his death--It’d take one tempting deal, or one tankard too many, and he’d run you through with little love. And while you may believe he took this bounty to help you… the fact that he never said anything makes it dubious.”

“What should I do, then?” I don’t look at him. Only at my own lap. I’m too focused on keeping my legs from shaking to think. I don’t want to die. I’m alright with the thought of it, but… I’m not a fool, either. Loving someone who’d easily hurt or kill me is ludicrous. Even if he isn’t planning something right now, he has everything he needs to kill me in an instant. And that new bounty, the odd one out, makes me physically sick to look at. Am I worth ten thousand? Would that cover the cost of the trouble he’d go through to kill me? Though I suppose he could fulfill all those bounties at once if he did. He’d be rich enough to buy a house in Solitude’s up and coming noble district, right next to the palace. And he’d have enough leftover to fill his house with servants and ladies of the night to keep him company.

“You know how he thinks, and you know how he moves. Halfi found your horse nearby. If you leave now, you can be halfway to Riften by the time he gets back. You know how he is with hunting. He takes his time.” Casavir slips the papers and notched stick back into Bishop’s pack, closing it. “I’m sorry, my lady. He has changed--but not enough to guarantee your life. Someone like him just can’t be fixed-- even by a miracle worker like you.”

“When he gets back, we’ll cover for you as long as we can.” Halfi adds. “And while Casavir is sworn to never tell a lie, I’m fine with doing so to cover your tracks.”

“Thank you, Halfi…” I stand shakily, my head still spinning. I should be calm. What happened to that firm grip I’ve always had on my heart? I usually have my emotions in control. But my head is pounding as if I’ve been struck. “I guess… it’s best for me to leave.”

I never expected me to say that. It’s over. I have to prioritize my duties before myself, after all. Killing dragons, killing Alduin for good-- and getting back to my role as the people’s guardian. My days as a forsworn has probably made the people forget about me. I should get back to that. I don’t have time for love, or myself-- I need to get back to what’s important. And getting stabbed in the back isn’t how I do that. 

It feels like my heart is on fire.

“I will help you take your things to your horse, my lady.” Casavir stands, giving a quick glance to Halfi. “I’m sorry this had to happen this way… I apologize. If I could, I would avoid having it come to this, but your safety is my priority as Paladin and as your friend.”

“I know. Thank you Casavir, really.” I look down to my boots as I exit the door, ducking into my own room across the tavern. Casavir grabs my bag immediately, but I can’t bring myself to lace up my armor again. 

“My lady... I know this is difficult.” He starts, but he can’t seem to follow up with anything. We both hesitate before I feel myself being swept into his arms; it feels so odd without his armor around him. He’s warm, and I feel my eyes close instinctively as I’m pressed into his soft tunic, hearing his gentle heart beat. “Be safe.”

“I will be.” I pull away gently, snapping my armor into place. “Thank you, Casavir.” 

“May we meet again soon. And under better circumstances.” 

“Agreed.” I pull my armor into place, throwing my hair in a quick ponytail. “Thank you for helping me, Cas.” He held his tongue, only nodding solemnly as we make our way to the stables. Sure enough, Ashes stands without gradient next to her. Halfi had to tie the reins to keep her from wandering.

“We’ll cover for as long as we can.” He assures me as I raise myself into the saddle. It feels so...empty, without Bishop next to me. 

“Alright… this is going to be one long ride. Tell Halfi I said goodbye.”

“May the Gods forge your path.” 

“...Right.” With that, I tug my reins towards the street, and Ashes changes into a gallop. Her hooves hit the cobblestone in uneven intervals as I push us onward through the mist and blackened forest towards Riften, with the night seeming more quiet than it’s ever been.


	50. Mistake and Mist-ache (God that was terrible)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be included in the last submission so it'd end on a proper note while I work on the next part, but I somehow forgot so here we are. The next part is going to take some time; but hopefully it will be worth it!
> 
> If you thought this was a proper update, I'm sorry!

“Halfi, we made a mistake.” Casavir paced in their small room, the soft footfalls of his boots against the carpet barely audible. “That doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all-- we’re vigilants, we shouldn’t have done that-- it isn’t our way. Halfi we need to go explain ourselves!”

“Calm down. It’s over.” Halfi lays comfortably on the bed, propping her head up on her fist. “She’s gone. Maybe Bishop will find her. Maybe he won’t. But we’ve done our part.” She said idly, twirling a dagger along her fingers dangerously, as if she wasn’t aware of the consequences. 

“We can make this right, Halfi. I haven’t acted like a Paladin. And you haven’t upheld what the vigilants--”

“Screw that. Rowan chose wrong, and we’re just trying to correct it. No harm in that.” She stretched out. “It’s fine, Casavir. A bit of clean up and once we shove off, Bishop’ll never know what happened.” Her voice was nearly smug. Casavir felt sick with himself. He didn’t want this. He knew Rowan had to be separated, but he didn’t want to do it like this. Being underhanded wasn’t his nature. He wanted to help Rowan; every fibre in his being ached because of it, but he hadn’t really helped her at all. Casavir had only pretended to have her best interests in mind. He wanted to hurt Bishop, not help Rowan, and that’s eerily what old Casavir would have done too.

He felt nauseous. Like he was just as bad as he used to be, all those years ago. Worse than Bishop. 

“Halfi.” Casavir looked up from his pacing, staring his young partner in the eyes. “We were wrong. We’re liars.”

“I’m a liar. You just went with the flow. You never said a word that wasn’t true, Cas.” Halfi sits up at last, cracking her back blissfully on the bed. “Now then-- we need to head out. He’ll be back soon.” She paused as she watched the Paladin chew on his lip, clenching his fists as time stood still for a few seconds. He’d make this right.

“You leave. I’ll explain everything to the Ranger once he returns.” 

“Cas…!?”

“Halfi, I am a man of honor. And while I want Rowan to be safe, lying to her isn’t how I ensure that.” He paused, his brows furrowing together as he tapped his foot, as he’s prone to do once stress kicks in. “Bishop can do what he must. Perhaps he’ll let me atone, perhaps not. I’ll take that risk.” 

“You can’t be serious.” She gawked, rolling off the bed fully now. Halfi leaped to her feet, blocking Casavir’s pacing path with a menacing glare. “You can’t be serious! You have work to do--people to save. Come on. Let’s get to the next village.”

“I can’t do that, Halfi. It isn’t right.”

“Frontier justice.” She huffs. “Cassidy, really. This is just being childish--”

“It isn’t. I can help them both.”

“Bishop’s psychotic and Rowan’s probably possessed by something. I don’t see how you can help.” 

“They’re in more danger alone than together.” Casavir fiddled with his hands, not wanting to look his elven partner in the eyes any longer. “I can make this right. Go to the Hall, and tell Carcette what we know about Rowan. I’m sure we can find a cure. I’ll explain everything to Bishop and come back if I’m able.”

“You’re an idiot, Casavir.”

“That may be so, but at least I’m an honorable one.” He sighs, unclipping the armor Rowan made him. It was beautiful, buffed and polished to perfection, and the magnetic clasps made the armor fit perfectly to his body. But at the moment, he couldn’t stand to look at it. It made him think of her. “I’ve forgotten who I am. Getting roped into something like this just proves it.”

“Oh come on…” Halfi rolls her eyes. “Fine! I’m leaving. Get killed by Bishop.” She huffs, leaving the room in a rush of air. 

“You and Rowan really aren’t alike.” Cas remarks as she leaves, but she was either out of earshot or didn’t care. Well… what now? He knew he needed to make this right, but he wasn’t sure how. First things first, then…

He pulled his freshly sharpened sword into his hand, looking into his reflection on the shiny steel. He tossed it onto the bed, frustrated with himself. The moment of clarity had hit him three minutes after he could have prevented this. Now he just felt...empty. He was just as bad, if not worse than Bishop. Alis would be disgusted. So would Rowan.

Oh Gods, Rowan! How would she forgive him!? He just lied to her face-- imagine that. He’d fallen so low just for his hatred of Bishop. Sunk even farther below his level just to strike out at him. That isn’t who he is. Casavir wasn’t that person talking to Rowan fifteen minutes ago. He had no clue who that was-- some sort of personal daedra made from his own hatred.

Gods forgive him. He just heard aggressive barking. He’s back. And Rowan’s long gone. He hears Bishop’s boots scratch over the threshold of the inn door, pausing once he’s inside as he warms his hands by the fire for a moment like he always did. Casavir knew the routine. He could hear his former partner’s boots through the crowd as he made his way to the back, stopping at the room he used to share with Rowan. A long pause, a confused voice, and he heard the boots cross back over straight to where Casavir was. The door flipped open faster than Casavir could ever hope to react-- the hinges groaned under the strain of Bishop’s full power, and stunned Casavir with a wall of air as the wood gave way.

“ **What did you do?** ” He growled. Of course he spotted it immediately. He’d recognize his own bag anywhere, and he’d recognize if someone had shifted the contents around twice as fast. His hands were clutching at Casavir’s tunic in an instant. “ **WHAT DID YOU DO?** ”

“I showed her the bounties.” Casavir said, doing his best to stay calm. “I also showed her your notch counter. And told her about Alis.” Casavir expected that last part to anger him more than the rest. But when Bishop’s face didn’t change, suddenly he was a whole lot more terrified.

“Do you remember my threat, Cas?” Bishop’s dagger was glittering in his hand as if by magic. Casavir felt his anger spike, but he pushed it down. He’d be civil. This was on him, after all.

“Yes, I do.”

“And you still did it?” He flipped it, as if this was some trivial meeting.

“You don’t get the nightmares, the voices, the memories like I did. You got off scott-free.” Cas swallowed hard. His eyes darted to his sword on the bed. The idea of being struck down was appealing to him less and less. “You don’t deserve her. I wish I didn’t act as I have...but that fact still stands, Bishop.”

“Of course I don’t deserve her.” He sheathes his dagger. “But I’ve always been a greedy bastard who takes what I like. Which way did she go?”

“How are you--”

“Which way?”

“She’s gone, Bishop. There’s no way she’ll let you find her.” Casavir grits his teeth, jaw clenching. “Strike me down and be done with it. But she’s free.”

“You really don’t know her at all, do you?” Bishop smirks. “Not even a clue. Probably Riften, right?”

“How did--”

“Or rather, that’s where you  _ think  _ she’s going.” He walked forward menacingly, snatching his bag up from the bed and slinging it to his back. “Well, I better not keep her waiting. She’s a patient gal, but I want to see the look on her face when I tell her the Paladin’s a liar as soon as possible.”

“And you’re just going to let me walk away?” Casavir grabbed his sword, preparing himself for the dagger that’s going to come at his face. He didn’t believe for a second that Bishop would actually--

“Well, normally I would, but let’s be honest Casavir. I can’t do anything that will even begin to compare to what your mind is going to do to you.” And with that, he walked out, Karnwyr joining him back at the door, silent as a ghost. 


	51. Reconnection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual content (Just a bit) in this short update. Sorry for the long wait! Finishing school has been draining.

He had tracked her to a nearby cave; one so thick in the underbrush he swore he would find spriggans. Of course, he felt accomplished. She barely left a trail, as Bishop had taught her to do; but Bishop wasn’t like most hunters. He could predict her easily-- he knew her inside out, after all. 

The cave was darker than the imperial captain’s heart at the beginning of the game. Perhaps that’s why she had come here, or maybe it was convenient. Either way, Bishop wasn’t going to light a torch. He didn’t know which thing Rowan was so worked up about, but he wanted to get as far away from Falkreath as humanly possible. It had taken every ounce of restraint in him to keep from striking down Casavir in the inn, but he knew Rowan wouldn’t forgive him. Unfortunately for the ranger, she was better at stopping his blade than anyone else in this damn country. 

“Rowan?” He called. “...Ladyship?”

He paused, but still heard nothing. He knew she was in here; even if he couldn’t see her, he didn’t feel the hairs on his neck stand or feel a sense of unrest. Bishop was calm, despite not being able to see in this hole in the ground, and that told him everything. She’s in here. 

A slight hiss- which he swore sounded more like a giggle- came from his right, and all at once Bishop felt both his feet leave the ground as he was sent toppling to the cave floor, the hollow thump their bodies made echoing off the cave walls. A candlelight illuminated the two of them shortly after as they lingered, the light hitting the white flecks in her eyes like stars in an evening sky. He said nothing as his arms wrapped around her waist on their own, pulling the two of them together as their breath mingled in the chill air of a Falkreath night. She giggled a bit more to break the warm silence between them.

The two of them had no need to say a single word. She could tell everything just by watching him bite the inside of his lip, throat arching as he strained to look at her, pressing the rough stubble of his cheek into the palm of her hand gently. And he could tell everything from the half relieved, half curious look on her face as her lips lay just barely parted, flush from where she had bitten them in waiting. They called Bishop by name; he never heard the sound, but watching them say his name made him unable to hold himself back. 

The kiss started off slow, as they usually did; but neither of them decided to change the pace. Both of them decided to just appreciate the slow burn that came from each other’s touch. For Bishop, every movement her hand made sensitized his skin and nearly sent him wild as his fingers found the nape of her neck. The two of them left behind the vampire crisis, Casavir’s words, and the prophecy of being Dragonborn and lingered as one for as long as they could.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Just as he was about to lose control, to break the rhythm, she broke the kiss. The fire beside them lit with the help of a well-aimed firebolt, and suddenly Bishop could see her whole figure again. She had no armor on; only her soft, sky-blue tunic and riding pants clung to her muscular frame, silhouetting her in white from the fire. 

…

“You’ve been drinking.” I announce. He tasted slightly sweet with some underlying bitterness. But that may have just been his hatred for Cas. 

“Calms me down.” He admits, looking away. 

“From what I’ve heard, it does the exact opposite.”

“He told you.”

“That he did.” I shift my hand from his cheek to the ground, pinning him down with a well-placed knee.

“And... you’ve trapped me.” He sighs, just now realizing the situation he’s in. “You’re too smart. I really hate it.”

“I didn’t believe much of what Cas said, but I do want to know, Bishop.” I bite my lip, grinding my teeth as I remember the bounty and the notches. That’ll come later. Truth be told, I didn’t believe Cas. After his story I felt as if it may have been true, but after going a short ways from Falkreath, I just felt stupid. I wouldn’t abandon him over something someone else told me; unless I see myself that I’m in danger, I won’t be driven off.

“Whatever he told you is probably true. He’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.” Bishop pauses, his gaze snapping back to my own eyes. “There’s a million things I’d do over if I had the chance-- but I’m never going to get one, so it’ll just haunt me forever. And I’ve come to terms with that, and I get that you’re probably disgusted, and hurt, and--”

I bring my lips to his forehead gently, shutting him up.

“Just talk, Bishop. I’m here for good.”

I hear his breath catch and he exhales quickly, as if he’s been avoiding this for so long. I feel a tug at my waist and suddenly I’m tucked against his chest. 

“There. You hanging over me like that makes me want to do something other than talk.” He smirked to himself as he stares at the fire, watching a log crack under the flames. “Yeah...I killed him. No reason for it really. Even back then, I had killed a ton of people...dozens, maybe even a hundred. The way he treated me like someone respectable pissed drunk me off, I guess. I didn’t want that responsibility. And I guess that night I showed I couldn’t handle it. My brain did the math--and decided a death or two more wouldn’t hurt in the least. I didn’t like being tied to places or people; having someone cling to me like that was suffocating at the time.”

“How long ago was that? From when you met me?”  
“I...dunno, two years?” He paused. “Before we started travelling together my perception of time was really spotty…” 

“I can tell. But another question--” I sit up, grabbing his bag before he can react, grabbing the notched stick and bringing it to the light in front of him, empty space up. “It’s not Alis-- Who are you waiting to kill?”

He seemed confused on how I knew about it. Of course he came to the correct conclusion quickly, rolling his eyes and slumping back down.

“That isn’t for you or Cas. That’s for this bastard named Thorn. Being with you made me forget… but I’ll still kill him one day.”

“I doubted it was me, but I would have put money it would’ve been for Cas.” I smirk, pulling him so he could sit. “What’d Thorn do?”

“He’s...the cause of all of this.” He pulls me in tighter, as if trying to make sure I don’t run. I’ll poke at that bear later; that isn’t the point of this conversation. 

“Casavir is pretty scared it’s him.”

“Hell no-- the Paladin doesn’t deserve space on my notch stick! Amateurs do not find a place on my stick of notches.” He takes it back from me, passing it over and through his fingers like a small baton. “This is for important business only. No stupid Bretons allowed.”

“Hey!”

“Didn’t mean that to include you, but you’re not going on here anytime soon.” He paused, realizing how that sounded. “I’m not going to...kill you, Ladyship.” He swears under his breath. “Even fucking saying it sounds wrong now. I don’t know who hit Casavir on the head hard enough to make him think I’m incapable of feelings.”

“Aw, you have feelings for me?” I snort. “That’s stupid. I never even noticed.”

“Speaking of loving stupid things…”

“I can relate.” I grin even wider, pleased the tension’s gone. We’re back to where we were before, and I’m ecstatic to be next to him again. It seems like forever since I’ve touched his skin.

“Damn the stupid Paladin...he’s such a drama queen, I can’t stand it. Here’s something about  _ his  _ past you should know about-- he once lost a bet and had to dress up in drag and sing Ragnar the Red ten times. We bought him some flowery gown from a tailor’s spring collection, with a nice bonnet and some cheap paint pots with makeup.  _ And  _ he wasn’t allowed to be drunk! Alis purposely played slower too so it’d be dragged out. He was so embarrassed he nearly swooned.  **I** even felt a bit bad.”

I laugh despite my former composure, covering my mouth with my hand so I’d at least semi-remain serious. Bishop’s smug grin is back on, too, as both of us picture what the hulking paladin would look like in a flowing sundress.

“Alright, alright.” I snicker. “I’m sure you’d hate for him to tell about your embarrassing moments.”

“Well  _ he  _ already crossed that line, didn’t he!?”

“...True.”

“You know, you should really be glad he isn’t the protagonist instead of me in this story. Can you imagine? You’d be freezing on some hellish iceberg in Winterhold, and he’d be awkwardly standing there in icicle-covered armor, refusing to come any closer. You’d ask him to huddle for warmth, and I bet he’d be like ‘ _ Being with you fills me with unpure thoughts, and I am ashamed, my fair lady. Let me go get some firewood to warm you instead _ .’ and he’d shuffle off like the bastard he is!”

“He wouldn’t say that!” I croak from bouts of cackling.

“He would and you know it!” Bishop yells right back. “Oh--and you’d never be able to invite him anywhere nice-- you’d be trying to get paid for a quest from a jarl, and the bastard would be trying to sit somewhere, scratching all the tables and chairs from that damn armor of his--”

“Would not! I buffed out the edges.”

“Oh yeah? How about the GIGANTIC fucking sword on his back!? He nearly stuck a guy when he went to bow once! I had to calm the two of them down-- and Cas was too stupid to realize his blunder, so he bowed to apologize, and nearly stabbed  _ ANOTHER  _ guy!”

“Alright-- Alright!” I wipe tears away, throwing my arms around his shoulder and kissing his collarbone, leaving a mark. “I’m glad it’s you. Okay?”

“I am too. Any more tests for me?” He smirks, knowing he’s won. My heart still belongs to this guy, whether or not I like it.

“Nah-- they’re probably useless anyway.”

“Wait...was there something?”

“What?”

“That was it, right?” He bit his lip. “You said that like there was something else…?”

“Yeah--the bounty.”

“What bounty?”

“The new one--?”

“Show me.” Once I climbed off of him he kneeled, watching me dig the new gilded bounty from the leather pocket. His eyes narrowed and I swear I saw fire behind them when he saw the edges of the paper, gold to the touch from delicate leaf. He watched it under my fingers, suspiciously muttering something under his breath.

“That isn’t mine.”

“What do you mean it isn’t yours?” I hand it to him, watching him open it. 

“Rowan, you have to believe me. I didn’t get this one. I got the others, but that was a long time ago--” He read it. “Ondolemar? Why the hell…? I’d never work with the Thalmor!”

“Where’d it come from, then? It was in your bag.”

“I...don’t know.” He looked at the back; blank. “I didn’t get this. Casavir must have.”

“Or someone put it in your bag when you were passed out at the tavern.” I shrug. “Maybe it was an attempt to get you to kill me. You know-- put it in there, you find it, and think about it subconsciously next time we fight? I read a book like that--”

“No… there’s no way. I’d have noticed it was in there sooner.”

“Maybe you just aren’t as good as you thought, Ranger.” I lean back, crossing my arms. 

“No way. Cas planted this.” He shakes his head. “There’s no way. That fucking--!” The next word was incoherent; nothing but an angry conglomerate of swears.

“Cas said he found it in there.” I pause. “You said it yourself--he’s not a liar.”

“No, but he can bend the truth.”

“Oh come on-- you’re trying way too hard to make this fit.”

“I’m really not.” He cracks his knuckles. “I hope his Gods are watching when I kick his ass next time we meet…” 

“Don’t beat up Cas. Nothing would come of it.” I glare. “Besides, he’s a good person. I...guess.”

“He’s a terrible person. Who the hell tries to take everything from someone?” He breathes. “He’s self-righteous. Everything’s a front to try and cover up who he is. And he knows it too-- that’s why he can’t drink alcohol; he knows he’s twice as bad as me any day when he’s drunk. The guy’s part daedra.”

“He is not.”

“He is. He’s sold me out, tried to kill me twice, and now he’s going after you.” He reaches out, touching my hair and softly tucking it behind my ear. “He’s obsessed with poetic justice. And while he may not be coming at me directly, he’s never going to give up the chance to take everything from me. And that means you.”

“You know, when Cas told me everything, he told me I should head to Riften. But I wasn’t going to go anywhere without making the call myself, so I came here-” I stand, taking my bedroll and laying it near the fire, unbuttoning the sides. “At this point, Bishop, if you really wanted to kill me…” I bend down so I’m level with him. “I guess all you’d have to do is leave me for good. I’m not going to leave you, no matter what the Paladin says.”

He smiles, especially once he sees what I’m doing. He shifts, preparing himself as he watches me with hungry eyes. 

“You sure?”

“I think we could use with some stress-relief. I daresay we’ve earned it.”

“I’m not going to be gentle this time, Love.”

“Neither am I,” I poke my tongue out from behind my teeth, taunting him as I kneel and drink from a small vial, discarding it back into my pack when I’ve finished. And as soon as I turn around…

Thwump. We both hit the fur gently under Bishop’s guidance, and of course the amber eyes bear into my figure as if I’d disappear without their watchful eye. The first thing gone is my tunic, unlaced at the collar and discarded next to me. His kiss is warm as he marks my side, letting me hook his own shirt and bring it above his head without any help, letting me clutch it triumphantly.

“I’m so glad we’re both devious. It makes this much more fun.” I snicker from my place underneath him, throwing our tunics to join each other next to us. 

“Agreed.” He breathes against my skin, threading a hand behind me and undoing my smallclothes with a flick of his wrist. “I’m winning.”

“Rude!” I snort, throwing it behind me. “Damn, you’ve one-upped me.” 

“That I have.” He smirks, rising to come in for a kiss. 

“Now you don’t.” I hook a finger on his pants and roughly shove them down, and he kicks them to the side. 

“Damn. What a shame.” He says sarcastically, grabbing my chin and tilting my head up so he can mark my neck too; and I can nearly feel the shade of burgundy he creates. His possessive side always comes out to play after we finally part from society. He lingers after, keeping me from looking as he admires his work. I guess Casavir made him pretty insecure after all.

“Hey-- can’t just be me!” I push up against him, giving him an equally visible mark along his collarbone, just below a faint scar. His arms hold me still, not letting me move without his permission. But I’ll still feign being in control of this. “Now you’ll have a hell of a time getting just anyone~”

“That’s fine. No one else interests me anymore.” He smirks from above me, hand slipping down from my waist to my hips. I shiver under his warm touch, feeling it like the heat from the fire as my breath catches for a moment. It smells like him; of smoke, of oak, and of something that smells uniquely of Bishop. “You’re getting tense, Rowan.” He teases, tracing a thumb around my breast lazily. I can barely keep my back from arching as he makes a second pass, softly cupping it just enough to taunt me. “Remember the first time?”

“Shut it.” I let my own hand wander south, reveling in the chiseled muscle that lingers above me, deciding whether or not to end this play now and give in to desire. He bites the inside of his lip; he wants to continue teasing me, but… I see the glint in his eye darken as he looks at me pinned below him, exposed to the night air fully so the low light catches on my figure. He swallows hard, gaze tracing around my curves, memorizing them. I squirm a bit, getting uncomfortable with him looming over like he is. “Getting a bit worked up, are we?” I kiss him gently, pulling him down so he settles between my hips comfortably. 

“Damn…” He breathes against my cheek, and I feel him slip down a bit further unconsciously. I shift back teasingly, enjoying how it makes him forget what he was doing for a split second. He mutters something under his breath as he pins me down further, trying to get me to stop moving. But I quite like this control. 

“Now who’s getting hot and bothered?” I smirk, cupping his cheek. “Go ahead. You’re like a dog.”

I feel his hand snap down to a...sensitive area, and with the pressure and heat of him… 

God dammit.

“Looks like it’s you, moaning and all…” He chuckles, and before I can reply he moves his hand faster, shutting me up again. “No talking. This time’s for me.”

I scowl from under him, showing him just how willing I am to go along with that plan. (Not at all) His grin only grows wider as he accepts the challenge, immediately setting the clock to see how long it’ll take to get me delirious. 

The logs in the fire beside us crack, filling the air with dying stars. 


	52. Don't have the -guts-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who likes setting up conflict? This author! Sorry for the lapse in updates--should be normal from now on. I've taken some time off in order to write other things, so with any luck you'll see an improvement in the writing.

“Rowan?” He calls from beside the dead fire. The part of the bedroll next to him has grown cold over time; but he isn’t worried. He can see my silhouette against the harsh sunlight coming in through the mouth of the cave. 

“Yes?” I call, sitting on a fallen log near the entrance. On one leg I’m balancing my note book, and on the other a map.

“What are you doing?” He asks, getting up. He pauses once he does, and quickly clothes himself. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” I look behind me, finally locking eyes with him trying to loop a foot into his pants. I let out a snort at his distress, turning back to my work so he can fail in private. Soon enough, a leg swings over the log and he’s sitting next to me. “Excuse you, do you have the password?”

“What?”

“If you don’t have the password, I can’t let you  **_log on_ ** .”

He shoves me off the log so fast I barely have time to brace myself.

“Phooo!” I say, hitting the soft ground. 

“You entirely deserve that.” He says, scratching his collarbone. 

“Hey, wait a second--” I pause on the ground, standing up as I look at the end of the log. “Hey Bishop, does it look like this log was cut down to you?”

He swings off the log and comes next to me, looking at the other end. It’s jaggedly cut, as if it was hacked at by claws or perhaps a really dull axe. 

“Beaver?” I ask hopefully.

“Must have been some beaver. Whoever cut it down was putting a lot of force into it.” He pauses. 

“Looks like someone tried to execute the damn tree.”

“Have some sense of awareness, will you?” He stops. “But yeah, I guess it does.”

“I guess it committed  _ tree-son _ .” 

A knuckle jabs into my ribs, stinging my side painfully. 

“Ouch!” I yelp, jumping away from him. 

“It is way too early in the morning, Rowan.” He stretches. “Where are we going, then?”

“I...really don’t know. I don’t have any plans other than stay away from Falkreath.”

“Solid plan.”

“I suppose we can just mess around for a while...see if anything pops up~”

“There’s some ruins east of here. Don’t know the name, though.”

“Shriekwind...Bastion.” I say, folding up my map. “Really not a good name, is it?”

“Probably filled with spiders and draugr…”

“Maybe a skeleton or two.” I confirm. 

“Want to go?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

…

“The door isn’t budging…” I swear, giving it a firm front kick. Bishop finally snakes in from the entrance, bow drawn.

“I don’t like this.”

“How many times have you said that?” 

“I think the real question is how many times have I been right?” He pauses, finally releasing the death grip he had on his bowstring. “Seriously, there’s other people nearby. Has to be.”

“I don’t feel anything. I’m sure it’s just some poachers.” I grumble, kicking the door again. “Stupid fucking rust--!”

“Oh man, Rowan’s too weak to open something? Hold on, the man will open this metaphorical jar for you…” Bishop skulks over smugly, bracing against the door and giving it a solid push. But it doesn’t move.

He bares his shoulder to the door and pushes. 

It doesn’t move.

But his shoes grind in the gravel with his exertion.

“Why don’t you try running some metaphorical hot water on it, strong man?”

“Shuttup.” 

“Alright, back up.” I command, waiting for him to back up and give me room. Once he’s clear, I stand about a leg’s length from the door, sweeping my foot up and landing a solid side kick right on the seam of the door. No dice. “Damn! That fucking hurt!”

“Think it’s barred?” He asks. 

“I don’t know why it would be, but…” I step forward, looking through the crack in the door. “You might be right…”

“I think I am.” He leans in overtop of me, sweeping an arm in front of me as he looks in. “Think you can burn it away?”

“I can try. Let’s hope it’s dry…” I press my hand against the small gap in the door, pushing a thin stream of fire in. I hear wood ignite as the magic breaks it down, and in the next moment the door swings open to reveal a dimly lit corridor sinking into the earth. 

“Who’s the smartest ranger?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t claim themselves to be a specialty class that doesn’t exist in Skyrim.”

“...You know all I wanted was ‘you are’...”

“That’d just make it too easy.” I snort, stepping inside. I pause, looking over my shoulder once I don’t hear him walk in after me. “Coming? Wonder why it was barred.”

He pauses, rubbing his eyes, and looks again. “Rowan…”

“Yeah?”

“...Nothing. I guess I’m just tired.” He steps forward, boots scratching at the century old stone. 

“We don’t have to go in. I don’t mind.” 

“No...we can go in.” He steps closer to me. “Something just seemed off. Either the ruins, or...you.”

“Me?” I raise an eyebrow as I pull a torch off the wall, lighting it and handing it to him. “Nothing wrong with me.” 

“Well I can see that, but it still feels like it.” He says. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just after the vampires something’s wrong.”

“Oh well I did get bit.”

“You did!?”

“Yeah.” I twist to him, showing the two red dots. “But since I killed the vampire that did it, they’re retracting now. I’m just burning the disease off, that’s all.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“No, but I don’t have proof of anything either.” He pulls his arrow back, shattering the skull of a skeleton that was just waiting to stand. We’re in an empty-ish room, a sarcophagus with a few poisons on the lid-- the only furniture. I sweep them into my bag and pick up an embalming tool, twirling it in my fingers idly. Maybe a vampire or two in here, I suppose. “Say, Rowan.”

“What?”

“Have you ever kept anything from me?” He asks, and I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Now I’m trapped staring at his amber eyes like my survival depends on it, like how you never break eye contact with a predator about to strike. I hate when he does this--he knows it screws with me.

“Nothing that’s more news than what you’ve kept from me, Bishop.” I finally say, turning my own gaze to ice so he can’t read me. 

“What--Ladyship--”

“We shouldn’t stay here. If there’s anyone actually still alive down here, they’ll have time to prepare.” I pause, feeling him grab my shoulder. Bishop stops me in my tracks as he tugs me to him suddenly, not giving me time to break away.

“You’re cold.” He says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick. Just a lack of iron after the vampirism.” I shake free, stepping away. “Come on. I’m going to get  _ frostbite  _ if we don’t keep moving.”

“That was barely a joke--Is now really the time for puns?”

“It’s always the time for puns. And I’m always  _ pun-ctual _ .” I say, smirking as I walk ahead of him. He holds the torch high enough so I can see where we’re going, including the skeleton up on the stairs wielding a broken battleaxe. My arrow whizzes through its eye socket and breaks the seal on the skull, letting the pile of bones fall uselessly to the stairs with a clatter.

“I wonder why the skeletons never really try to use their weapons?” Bishop asks, pulling the chain to open the next chamber. “Or, rather, it just takes them awhile.”

“Dunno, I guess it uses a lot of energy. The bow ones don’t seem to have much trouble.”

“Then why give them a battleaxe if they can’t use it?”

“One of life’s great mysteries, I guess.” I stop us both right before we enter the main chamber, feeling the magic tie on the room. “There’s more up ahead.”

“More skeletons? I don’t see any.”

“Well they’re somewhere, just skull-king about.”

“Now you’re just trying way too hard, Love.” He sighs, nocking an arrow. “I see that one behind the bars on the right.”

“Laas!” I whisper to myself. “Oh, they’re behind walls.”

“Well then go in.” Bishop says sweetly, shoving me into the room.

“Bah! No one appreciates it when I’m careful.” 

“I’m the only one you travel with, what do you mean ‘no one’?” Bishop says.

“I did explore with the two idiots.” I grab my belt buckle unconsciously, looking down to the ground. “We were just teenagers, though. I’d get rid of the dwarven traps and pick the locks, Apolinus would help salvage everything and carry it back, and Vorstag protected us. Easy way to make money as a kid.”

Bishop watches how my gaze drops, and I fiddle with my hands. 

He knows.

“You can cry, you know.” Bishop says. “We’ve been with each other for a year now and I’ve never seen the weak side of you.”

“But I don’t need to cry.” I raise an eyebrow. “Sheesh. It really doesn’t bother me, Bishop. And I’m still waiting to see the weak side of you.”

“You missed it, then.”

“What?”

“When you were with the Chief--that was the weakest I’ve ever been.”

“Bishop…” Before I can say anything, a skeleton’s arrow plunges into my arm. “I fucking knew there was a skeleton!” I cry, shooting an arrow that shatters the sternum of the walking bodyframe beside us. “Thanks Mr. Skeletal. Huh. Secret rooms.”

“They’re small.” He pauses as I pull the handles in the middle. The first room opens, with bones rolling down the stairs. I let Bishop check the room out, hearing the familiar sound of a chest being kicked open.

“Hey Rowan, there’s more handles up here. Come check it out.” He says, waiting for me.

“No. Pick one and pull it.” I say, adamantly standing on the front. 

“Why?”

“Feeling.”

“Whatever.” He responds, tugging one of the handles. Nothing.

“Pick another.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He says, slightly irked. He tugs the middle one, and the iron bars behind him slam closed, trapping him. “Well fuck!”

“That’s why I didn’t go up there.” I sigh, tugging the handle again and freeing him. “Now pull the last one.” 

“Well aren’t you so smart.” He curses under his breath. “You know, I forgot how I’d get out of these without you.” He pulls the last door, opening the last passage. 

“We make a good team.” I join his side again, cupping his chin and giving him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. “Now then… I think there’s a vampire up ahead.”

“Yeah.” He nocks another arrow. He leads the way this time, and we step into a long, nordic ruin hallway with eagle statues lining each side. Down the hall is a sarcophagus, with various items lined up along the rim with a spellbook in the middle, and a lovely woman with long, black hair standing behind the makeshift table. Her clothes were different from usual; instead of the normal black shroud, she instead has a long, flowing dress that trails behind her like a wedding gown trail, the burgundy fabric contrasting with her white skin beautifully. Though once we approach, her placid face grimaces as she sets eyes on us. 

“Wait, Bishop!” I say, but it’s too late. She’s already panicked and resurrected the skeletons behind her. But there’s only three skeletons… one of Bishop’s arrows and two of mine send the skeletons back to a loose pile on the floor, and Bishop’s second arrow finds the heart of the woman. She falls backwards, hair streaming out of her hood and onto the floor. “Dammit…” I sigh.

“What?”

“She just turned, Bishop. And I don’t think she was turned by choice.” 

“You feel sorry for her?”

“Well yeah-- and we could have reasoned with her.” I walk forward, picking her up and laying her on the table. “Poor girl.”

“What’s with all the stuff?” He asks, looking to everything she had already placed on the sarcophagus. “Huh. Not exactly curse-looking stuff.”

“I think she just came here to get away from the sun.” I sigh. “Explains all the really weak skeletons. She barely had any power.”

“That’s too bad.” He steps back. “But she was a vampire. It’s not like we could do anything.”

“I know, I know. But still, you didn’t have to kill her--”

“Rowan, she fired at me. It’s instinct to stay alive.”

“You’re still lacking in the compassion department, Ranger.” 

“One of us has to be.”

“That isn’t true.”

“If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that it is, Rowan.” He sighs. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“...Anyway, she sure had a lot of stuff.” I say, not wanting to begin another argument. We have enough drama between us as it is. 

“Noblewoman, looks like.”

“That really is too bad.” I say, my heart a bit hurt. I really do feel bad--we had no reason to kill her. She had no power whatsoever...it was a bit like killing a child. Though I understand Bishop’s perspective. She didn’t catch it second hand, the puncture marks in her neck say that she was turned by a pureblood. There was nothing we could do to cure her. But still…

“You don’t need to pity her. If you do that for each and every person we come across, your heart won’t remain intact.”

“Yeah, but if I judged everyone at face value and decided then and there, you wouldn’t be in my life right now.” That makes him freeze a bit. I close her eyes and remove the arrow, shifting her dress to cover the mortal wound. I throw the arrow aside, shifting the lid of the sarcophagus. 

“What are you doing?”

“She deserves a resting place; she probably wasn’t a bad person. These are always empty. Now give me a hand…!”

“Geez, fine.” He says at last, helping me shift the lid. I lower her in, placing some of her personal items around her. As Bishop’s shifting around her bag I dig into my own, pulling out a red mountain flower to tuck behind her ear. 

“She had some very nice jewelry on her.” He said, pulling out a few rings and a silver circlet. 

It was a silver one, with celtic loops that framed the gem. The loops pulled back into braids that intertwined and ran the length of the headpiece, eventually ending in a knot on the back. “Here look--this almost looks like your necklace.”

“Thanks?” I ask, looking it over. Once I see the name on the back, I can’t help but smile.

“Suits you more than me.” He retorts. “It really does look close to your necklace, doesn’t it? Though I don’t know what the letters on the back mean.”

“That’s because I made it.” I say, checking the back. I’m still grinning like an idiot. 

“You did?”

“‘RSSM’--Rowan, Silversmith in Markarth. If you don’t have a surname, you take your hometown.” I pause, putting it on. It was still in pristine condition, somehow. “Was it in the pack?”

“Aye, in a little velvet bag.”

“Let me see it.” He nods, handing me a small, black velvet pouch with silver lettering on the front. “Yeah, RSSM again. I made these.”

“She was a fan of your jewelry.” Bishop comments as I place the circlet back on her head. “She couldn’t even wear silver anymore, but she still kept it around.”

“Wonder if I met her.” I shrug. “Ah, well. At least she doesn’t have to go through the pain of transformation.”

“I wouldn’t think any more about it. It’s just how things are, Rowan. No amount of second guessing will change anything.” 

“Agreed.” With our combined strength we close the sarcophagus, and my eyes finally lift to the word wall glittering behind her. “I wonder what it is…”

“Fingers crossed for something good!” Bishop says as I walk up, setting a hand on the word. 

“Say, Bishop, when you look at this wall, what do you see?”

“It’s just a curved wall with some writing on it.”

“Nothing glowing? Hear Anything?”

“Glowing…? What?” He asks, but I’ve already placed my hand on the sky blue word. The word repeats in my head as I do so. “ _ Grah _ .”

“Mother fucker, it’s the second elemental fury! It’s so useless!” I kick the wall.

“Well don’t blame the wall.”

“It’s the same stupid shout I got at Dragonstooth!” I groan.

“What does the wall say anyway?”

“The entire wall?”

“Is it just gibberish?” 

“No.” I step back. “Hold on… I’ll read it to you.”

 

_ “This stone commemorates the brave _

_ Thjodrek who died heroically _

_ in the battle of the Serpent Sea.” _

 

“Huh. So they actually say stuff.”

“Well of course they do. I just got the word ‘Grah’, and that’s battle, right here.” I point with my finger to the formerly glowing word.”

“How do you know which word makes a shout?”

“They get pointed out to me.” I pause. “I don’t really know.”

“First time you haven’t had an explanation for something~” He says smugly.

“Hey, I’m new to this.” I jump down the stairs, standing in front of him. “I wonder if the other dragonborns knew?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re all shades of dead right now. Let’s get out of here, Ladyship.” There’s a door to our right, supposedly the way to the exit.

“Yeah. I think we’ve had enough exploring today.” I agree, pushing open the door. “What the hell!?”

“Why the fuck does it open onto the side of a mountain!?” Bishop gingerly steps out into the small veranda-like structure, looking down the steep cliffside coated in snow and ice. “It’s cold as hell, too!”

“Looks like we have a lot of walking to do…”


	53. Wa-ter we going to do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm trying too hard with the titles now. They're so bad even I'm getting annoyed at myself.

“Damn, I’m tired as hell.” Bishop stretches as we walk out of Shriekwind Bastion and back into the verdant wilderness.

“I don’t think Hell is tired.”

“Ladyship, you really have to quit taking these things literally.”

“...No.” We walk out of the ruin’s pit, mutually choosing to just wander in the wilderness for a while. Side by side, along a path that only we can see in the tall, swaying grass of the early afternoon. I reach down quickly, picking a daisy absentmindedly. I was about to start pulling off the petals when Bishop pulls it away, tucking it into my hair. 

“I already love you.” He says quietly.

“What?” I snicker, pressing closer and taking his hand in mine. “Wow. Denying me my flower torture; how dare you.”

“Where to now?” He says, shifting his pack. 

“I dunno, but it’s way too hot today.”

“We’re bordering on summer...things are going to get pretty hot from now on.” He looks up through the canopy leaves, squinting at the harsh sunlight. “Though the humidity down here isn’t making things any better…”

“We should have stayed in the Bastion. At least it was cold there.” I sigh, grabbing hold of my tunic’s front and flapping it to try and cool me off. “Or the cave! This was a mistake…”

“Should we head up North?”

“Yeah, we can  _ chill  _ out up there for a while.”

“Ignoring it.” He says.

“What?” I pause, thinking over what I just said. “Oh, I didn’t even think about that pun!”

“So it’s automatic now? Great. Just what I need in my life.” He pauses. I can see the sweat bead on his collarbone and forehead as our clothes begin to stick to us. Our armor forces our clothes to cling to our skin, making every movement uncomfortable. 

“Fuck it, I’m taking off my armor…” I sigh, pulling my dragonskin off of me in sheets. I fold it and chuck it on the top portion of my pack, immediately feeling the freedom. “Come on, it feels so much better.”

“I’ll keep it on. The steel’s still cold from underground.” He says, a slight smugness in his voice. “You wouldn’t like it if I took this off.”

“Why not?” I look to him.

“It’d distract the readers from the tree you’re about to walk into.”

I slammed into that damn pine tree with the force of a dog hitting a glass door. 

“Watch where you’re going.” He admonishes. I rub my nose angrily, trudging forward. 

“Ow.” Is all I say. “Hey, Bishop…”

“Yeah?” He turns towards me. I bite down on my lip, hard, deciding whether or not to say the rest of the proposal. “What do you not want to say…?”

“Since it’s so hot…” I pause. “Wanna...go...swimming?”

He had never looked so surprised in his life.

“Ladyship, am I awake?”

“You aren’t dreaming, Bishop…”

“Closest water is a river about half a mile from here…” He grins, pleased, and takes hold of my shoulders. He spins me forty-five degrees to the right, and without breaking stride, we walk on. His fingers intermingle with mine as he grips my hand firmly, as if he’s leading me. “No one’s looking. You don’t have to be the strong Dragonborn right now.”

“It’s been awhile since we just screwed around, hasn’t it?”

“Well...if you’re talking about screwing…”

I punch his arm. 

“Rude.” he snorts. 

“You’re...going to have to help me swimming.” I say, not meeting his gaze. “Okay?”

“I count on it.” I can hear the smugness in his words.

“And don’t mess with me, okay? The last time I swam was at Clearpine.”

“Ladyship, I’m not going to be kidnapped by Spriggans this time.”

“Yeah, but I think I’m more scared of the water than ever.” 

“Then I won’t leave you.” He says, raising my hand so he can kiss the tips of my fingers. 

“When did you become so caring?”

“I can throw you in if you want.”

“...I’ll take caring Bishop again, thank you.”

“I figured.” He grins. “How long has it been since Clearspring?”

“I dunno, a year? Give or take a month or two…” I pause. “I don’t even know. Who’s keeping track of this timeline? Are they an idiot?”

“You know, Ladyship, every time you joke like that, something bad happens.” He pauses. “I don’t believe in curses, but you should probably hush.”

“Yeah yeah…” I fan myself with my hand. “God...it’s hellishly hot…”

“Falkreath summers for you…” He breathes. “God dammit… I’d usually be in Riften by now…”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“We aren’t exactly begging, Ladyship. We can do whatever we want.”

“No, we’re two wandering adventurers looking for work.”

“I’d say it’s more like the Dragonborn and her Ranger, looking for trouble…” He raises an eyebrow as the river comes into view. “But that’s just me.” 

“Trouble finds us, Bishop.”

“We also make plenty of it.” We walk to the water’s edge, choosing a fallen log to house our gear. Bishop’s armor is off in a moment’s notice, and his tunic follows suit; in seconds he’s in nothing but his pants with only his dagger dangling by his thigh.

Dear God they’re tight in exactly the right places…Nice job, past me.

You didn’t hear that.

You also didn’t see the slight thumbs up I give myself just out of his vision.

“What, am I the only one stripping?”

“N--no…” I start, beginning to unclasp my armor. It takes forever to do so; stripping the buckles away is tedious. I feel like I’ve put this armor on more times than I’ve taken it off. The breastplate falls to the sand first, then the spaulders, and finally my gauntlets and faulds. I’m left in my simple cotton tunic, with my riding pants underneath. But to me, I may as well have been naked. “Feels weird with the sun being up…”

“I’m not complaining.” Bishop grins, watching me strip intently. 

“Hey Bishop.”

“Hey Rowan.”

“I have an idea…” I pull my tunic off, revealing my binding cloth underneath. With a quick step towards him, I tap his shoulder gently. “Tag. You’re it.”

“Oh...Ladyship…” He grins maliciously. “You’re taunting the hunter.”

“I’m no doe, Bishop.” I backpeddle right out of reach of his swipe at me, twisting around and bolting down the river’s bank. I hear Bishop’s heavy footfalls in the sand as he sprints after me, evenly hitting the bank feet from my heels. Rocks block my path up ahead; but instead I race towards them. Dead end, then. I jump up at the last moment, pushing off the rocks and just over Bishop’s head, missing the top of his hair by inches. 

“This is going to be satisfying…” He growls, sprinting after me. We’re both sweating from the exertion; my breath comes in ragged bursts as I dodge his grip. I pivot on my heels and shoot off in a different direction, looping around a tree and towards the river bank.

But before I can run off again, Bishop tackles me, sending us both flying off the bank and into the water. We hit with a monstrous splash that could wake the dead, sending us both into the cool water. 

I nearly begin to panic, but I right myself and my feet hit the bottom. I stand, treading water slightly with my hands as Bishop resurfaces, pushing the water from his eyes. 

“Definitely feels good after chasing you…” He grins. 

“Yeah.” I lean my head back, dipping the back of my head in the nearly cold water. “Phew! I think we needed this…” 

“You’re not swimming, but at least you’re in the water…”

“Well I knew I’d need some sort of incentive. Didn’t exactly expect you to tackle me, though.” 

“Hey, I wasn’t going to let you win…” He taps me on the shoulder. “Tag, by the way…”

“Yeah?” I jump at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him softly on the cheek. “Tag.” I hang off of him, tucking my head over his shoulder in a comfortable hug. “Feels nice to be comfortable like this…”

“Ladyship, why do you love me?” He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me tightly to him.

“Why do I love you? Hmmm...” I pause. 

“That isn’t a good sign.” He jokes.

“Well, because every day, I like you a bit more. Not just because you’re strong and intelligent… You’re everything I’m not, and while we may butt heads every now and then, at the end of the day, you’ll always have my back. I can trust you with my weaknesses. And you’re quite cute with how protective you get sometimes.” I smile. “Like how you always place me away from the door when we share a bedroll.”

“It’s an unconscious habit…” He grumbles, cheeks slightly flushed as he looks away.

“Aw--!” I say, pinching his cheek softly. He smacks my hands away in an instant.

“Bah! I’m still not cute.” He scratches his stubble. “I wonder where Karnwyr is…”

“Hopefully out of this heat.” I dunk myself underwater for a moment to cool my face off. “I wonder if he ever gets bored, since you guys don’t hunt together?”

“Nah, I’m sure he’s having the time of his life somewhere. He doesn’t like combat anyway.” Bishop shrugs.

I pluck the necklace off his chest, looking to the diamond inlaid in it. It’s still in pristine condition, which is amazing considering what it’s been through. What we’ve been through. 

“Your craftsmanship is pretty good.” Bishop brings his hand above water, showing me his ring. 

“Pretty good? I’m one of the best silversmiths in Skyrim.” I say proudly. “...But I’ll take the compliment. Your skills aren’t bad either.”

“Look at us… a year later and we’re still giving compliments.”

“Better than insults,” I say.

“We throw those at each other too, though.”

“It’s a balance.” I smirk. “Like how I don’t comment on how your beard scratches me in my sleep like a wire brush.”

“Or how I never say how you snore like an ox.”

“Or how your breath smells.”

“Yours always smells like a potion.” He snaps, still with a smile.

“You smell like the dead for a full day after we leave any sort of crypt.”

“And your cold feet are like tiny icebergs.”

“...We should stop this before it turns ugly.” I observe.

“Agreed.” He ends. We linger in the shallow water, his arms still around my waist just like at Clearpine pond. The cool water contrasts with the heat from his skin, and the small water droplets that clung to my eyelashes fall to his collar, beading on his tan skin and rolling down his toned muscles. 

“Hold on Bishop…” I inch away from him, pulling the brooch that held my binding cloth. The two yards slowly unwind and I toss them up on the bank of the river, sighing in relief at the absence of the crushing weight. “That feels better than you’ll ever know.”

“Yep...so you should...uh...do it more often.” He’s staring exactly where you’d expect.

I sink down into the water, sighing blissfully. “It’s been a while since we’ve really been able to bathe.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve done a lot of things, Rowan.” He rolls his shoulders. “Remember when things were less complicated?”

“I do.” I look up at the white rolling waves in the sky, threatening for some light rain in the afternoon. “I think we can return to that, don’t you?”

“Even with how much we know about each other?”

“I think we can manage.” She pauses. “I’m not trying to settle down--I’d rather just explore and fight things. You?”

“Yeah.” He smirks one of his rare, full-toothed grins. Where he’s actually happy, not just doing it to adorn his face. “...Yeah.”

“So where to next, Captain?” 

“I’m thinking Riften. You?”

“I was going to say Windhelm. We haven’t been there in a while.” I shrug. “Lots of trouble up in the ice, don’t you think? I got some ruins we can explore.”

“That’s true…” He pauses. “Why not both?”

“...We can do both.” I nod. “But as for now, I say we get out of the water.”

“What, don’t want to stay any longer?” He asks, wading towards me.

“I think I’ll turn into a prune--” A wave of water hits my face before I can finish my insult. What a bastard!

I splash him back, slapping the water at an angle so the spray gets into his eyes. 

He uses both hands this time, and I swear it’s like getting slapped with wet. 

Another double splash that hits him square in the chest.

He threatens to do it again, but I say fuck it and tackle him into the water before he can.

“Foo-!” He says, pulling us both to the surface.

“Getting weak, are we?”

“No, I’m just on a slippery rock,” He huffs, running his hands over his face to get the water out of his eyes. “On the bright side, I did a quick boob check, and you’re still pretty firm.”

“Did you fucking squeeze--?!” I hook my ankle behind his foot, sending him sprawling into the water again.

“Fuckin’ worth it…” He spits some water out. 

“Alright, let’s get out…” I haul myself onto the river bank, picking up my binding cloth and putting it back on. The firm cloth should be fine drying against my skin. “Doesn’t seem so hot anymore.”

“Nope. I think the wind’s changed.”

“Think it’ll storm?” I look up to the clouds, now with a slight grey tinge. 

“Probably tonight or tomorrow morning,” he decides. “I think we’re set for travel.”

“Alright. Where do you think the horses are?”

“Dunno. West a bit? Northwest?” He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, going with that. You dry?”

“For the most part, yeah.” I sling on my shirt and hook my armor back on, stepping into my boots. “You?”

“I’ll be alright.” He says, throwing on his shirt and armored tunic. 

We begin to walk Northwest, slowly beginning to recognize the forest around the two of us. They should be around here somewhere-- Shriekwind Bastion isn’t very far from here. This was the area where we left them.

“Man, what is it with us and animals that wander?”

“Speaking of which…” Bishop turns to a shaggy wolf, head down and skulking towards us, winded. His breath is in ragged huffs, and he’s absolutely coated in mud. “Guess he got hot too.”

“Gods Karnwyr, you smell terrible!” I step back. “I don’t think he’ll be much help with the horses…”

“Hey buddy…” Bishop stoops down, scratching behind Karnwyr’s non-muddy ear a bit. “You can’t smell anything but yourself, can you?”

“And we’ve already left the river…” I sigh. 

“Eh, he’ll run off again--” He pauses. “Karnwyr, what do you have in your mouth?”

“He has something?” I look over. “It’s just a muddy stick.”

“No it isn’t…” Bishop wrestles with Karnwyr for a moment, the muddy wolf threatening to rub himself all over Bishop’s clothing. In the end, all he got was the end of a sleeve tarnished. “It’s an arrow.”

“Broken one. Probably a hunter’s?” I watch as Bishop douses the arrow in water, rubbing the mud off the fletching. “Dyed feathers…? Waste of money. I never got the point.”

“Yellow and green.” His gaze narrowed. “I fucking knew Thorn was still alive…!”

“It’s his?” I pause. “It’s probably old. The thing’s broken too.”

“We need to find the horses and leave.”

“We’re always running from stuff…” I sigh, stretching. “What’s the worst one ex-merc can do? Shout edgy things about having a terrible life until he passes out? We can take our time. It’s one guy in an entire forest. We have the whole ‘needle in the haystack’ type thing going on here.”

“No, but you’re a young female dragonborn with plenty of people lined up to pay for you, and I’m one of his old employees who basically kicked him in the face and walked out. I stole a ton of shit from him, and he never realized until I was out of the country. 

“Huh. Was it good stuff?”

“I mean--yeah--Ladyship, focus.” He exhales, running his fingers through his still wet hair. “I’m not afraid of him. But we should avoid the guy. I don’t want you with me when I kill him.”

“Oh...right. He’s your notchy target thing.” I cross my arms. “Why not?”

“Because he’s a sexist bastard would see you as nothing but a toy.” Bishop takes a step forward as Karnwyr runs off again. “I don’t want you to ever have to face him. Let’s get out of here. Karnwyr ran all this way to warn us. Least we can do is heed it.”

“I doubt he’s been looking for us.”

“He probably heard from the people at the bounty house that you and I are around--” He freezes. “Oh my God, Ladyship.”

“What?”

“That’s why I got marked too--back at the bounty house. We both did. They knew you from the bounties, but--”

“Thorn was looking for you.” I pause. “It’d make sense they’d keep you alive, then. But wouldn’t they find us at Falkreath?”

“The guards know them. And after that we were with the Vigilants. Thorn would have been wary.”

“So now he’s going to come after us.”

“I’m sure the Vigilants passed one of his little checkpoints. He knows we’re no longer with them. Rowan, we need to find the horses, and we have to leave.”

“I’m with you. Let’s get out of here.” 

And suddenly, from far behind us, we hear the familiar distressed whinnies of a blue roan and a dappled grey. 

“...Found them?” We both freeze.


	54. Let Sleeping Dogs Die

“Think it’s a spider?” I ask, looking to Bishop’s face. His expression is darkened and his eyes have lost their light like when we first met. With a malicious scowl and a clenched jaw, he’s definitely tense. 

He looks murderous.

“Let’s hope it is. We can’t outrun Thorn on foot.”

“Do they have wolves too?”

“No.” Bishop answers. “But our armor is heavier. He has runners in just some leather whose soul purpose is to slow people down.”

“I…” I pause, trying to think of a way. “Alright. Let’s get to the horses.” We begin to run in the direction we heard them, with Bishop whistling his lungs out along the way. 

“Think it’s a trap?” I ask, breathless.

“It definitely is. They’re wearing the Dragonborn insignia, right?”

“Shite, you’re correct.” We slow down as the whinnies become close. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“It’s probably one of his hunting parties.” He pauses. “We can take them.” 

“Rain check?” 

“No. Go.”

We run out into the clearing. The horses, as expected, were tied to a stake in the middle, distress in their eyes. Bishop nocks an arrow, eyes peering into the underbrush all around us, but nothing moves. The forest is silent, save for a lone sparrow that twitters from a nearby branch. The ward on my fingers drops into whispy petals as I stop channeling magic, letting my hand fall to my side. 

“Can you check?”

“No. Don’t have my voice back yet. Please hold.” I take a sip of water. “The aggressive ones take a toll on my vocal cords, you know.”

“They’re around.”

“Maybe they’re looking for us,”

“Not likely.”

“You said they’re stupid.” I shrug. “That’d be the stupid thing to do.”

“You ready?”

“It’s gonna hurt, but…” I clear my throat. “ **_LAAS!_ ** ”

“Anyone?”

“Nope. Empty. They must really be stupid.” I do a full circle on my heels, trying to see any sort of red. But the world is only a dull green around me; absolutely harmless.

“Still, it’s something…” Bishop steps forward towards the horses. At his presence they stamp their feet nervously, pulling on their reigns and tugging at the stake which binds them to the ground. Their nostrils flare as they try and get away, as if expecting Bishop to turn into a dragon and eat them. “What are you doing, you idiots?” 

The ground snaps under him as a branch breaks, sending him into free fall for a split second until I catch his forearm. He slams into the pit wall with a hollow thump, planting his feet on the wall just above where the needle-sharp pikes lay under him, glittering in the moist condition like a shark’s teeth. 

“Holy fuck.” I breathe.

“Nice catch,” He looks down, pulling himself up. “Well, now we know what the trap was.” 

Except it was a double trap. 

Neither one of us expected arrows to fire at us from all sides of the clearing, their mechanism boxes hidden by the verdant foliage. The arrows, with their green and yellow fletching, momentarily scream at us as the small hole in their shaft whistles like a burning firework, screeching like a siren and freezing us in our tracks.

My ward shatters into a million pieces, just shielding me from the arrow that threatened to shoot out my heart. Another flies over my shoulder, drawing a devilishly red line horizontally on my neck, the warm droplets feeling heavy in the humidity. 

Bishop didn’t have the luxury of a ward. One in the thigh, another in the side. When the bombardment started, he cleverly turned to the side and used his spaulder as a small shield to block and from trying to pierce his skull; lucky too, or else a particularly crooked arrow would have taken his eye from him.

“Are...you okay?” He calls.

“Yeah. Fine.” I look to him. “You’re not.”

“Neither are the horses…” His soft voice pulls my attention away from him. Ashes and Gradient lay on top of each other, eyes wide with panic even in death. Ashes had taken the brunt of the arrows’ numbers, perhaps trying to protect her younger sibling, but that was only in vain; Gradient fell from a single, small, well-placed arrow lodged in his neck. 

“Poor guys…” I breathe out a sigh, still trying to catch my breath as my heart races. “Bishop…”

“Shit…” He breathes. “Rowan...stay close to me…” 

I press my back to his without another word.

“Well hello, Bishop. I knew you’d come back eventually. You rogues always do.” The nearly seven-foot tall man lumbers out of the thicket, flanked by ten bandits on each side. “How nice of you to bring me the Dragonborn. Who knew some backwood trash would turn up with a real gem?”

“Fuck off, Thorn. We still have enough strength to kill you  **and** your men…” Bishop’s arrow is pointed at Thorn’s head; with the other twenty bows in the area pointed right back at him.

“Are you sure?” Thorn asks, as if it’s something trivial like the weather. The twenty men who flanked him soon dissolve into fifty men, densely completing the semi-circle around the clearing. They click and chatter like a hungry machine or a chaurus of some kind; milling about in seemingly one body. 

“Did you invite all these people to the party for little old me?” He asks.

“No. I brought them for the Dragonborn.” He smiles. “The little girl hides a big mouth, doesn’t she? I’ve heard about it. The Silverbloods have bowed to her, after all. But I won’t make the same mistake-- they underestimated you, Rowan, and I’m not going to do that. I’ll break you down exactly as a man should.”

“ _ You were right about the sexist asshole… _ ” I mutter to him, swinging out to face the man. 

“A lot of people have tried, Asshole, and not one has succeeded. Try your luck; because when you play with a Dragon, it’s for keeps.” I pause, my mind blanking. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I catch you,” He smiles, placing his axe back at his side. 

We stay silent.

“...Pardon?” I ask.

“I want you to run. Run as fast as you can on those god-guided legs of yours. Bishop was one of the fastest runners I had… until I expanded my little mercenary group into nearly five hundred. Now he’d pale in comparison. So I’ll allow your little team-up...” 

“Yeah right,” Bishop scoffs.

“So I want to test you,” Thorn starts again, ignoring him. “Do you know how our ancestors used to hunt? They wouldn’t use crude traps, or poison, or even weapons.” Thorn took his axe from his hip, idly flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle in an endless loop. “Animals are fragile compared to us humans. You know what they did? They would find a target, and very carefully and very laboriously follow that animal. They would keep it from sleeping, from eating, from drinking; slowly following it until it died from exhaustion in a heap of stress and panic. And that’s what I’m going to do with you. Consider it a more extreme game of the same tag you played down at the river...”

“This guy’s nuts…” I whisper.

“So go ahead and run, Dragonborn. See how far you can get. Without your horses, Falkreath is a week and a half’s walk, weather permitting…” 

“I bet your mother never loved you...Uh…”

“His name is Thorn.” Bishop concludes, glancing sidelong at me.

“Oh, I thought it was Thoron.” I pause. “Well that’s stupid as hell. Why did you name yourself Thorn!?”

“Nonchalant as ever. I’ll break that out of you slowly…” He says. But I swear I see a little bit of annoyance under his guise. His jaw clenches and his muscles bulge even more from where they already seemed to balloon out of him.

“...Thorn? Could’ve been like...spike...or viper...or, uh… hell, even something like Hound or Cavis would have been cooler. Thorn!?” 

“ _ Ladyship… _ ” Bishop growls. “ _ I love you, but shut up… _ ” 

“ _ Buying time, help me… _ ” I snap back.

“You know, you really took your time finding me, jolly green.” Bishop chides. “Probably took you years just to get your big ass out of bed.”

“Maybe two years to lace his boots,” I add. “And Gods forbid he drop something-- it’d take him months to pick it up!”

The men around him stop chattering. They’re thinking we’re absolutely nuts to try and humiliate Thorn.

“I bet you have to stay in the forest because if you leave, some dog’ll mistake you for a tree and try to mark you.” Bishop says smugly.

“And considering your face, are you sure mum and dad weren’t related?” I pause, watching Thorn’s eyes glare. “I think you should check. Calm down, Antigone; Oedipus syndrome is in your blood. Get agitated and it might resurface.”

“Get them.” Thorn says quietly.

“ **_STRUN BAH QUO!_ ** ” I shriek.

The roar from his men and the thunder clash, turning into one lamenting dull ring in our ears. Lightning claps down in the scant space between us and Thorn, showering the immediate area in a mist of dirt and silt that hung like a fine blanket; letting us haul ass into the trees behind us. The rain started softly for a few seconds then beat the canopy like a drum, steady and heavy, covering our footprints in an unidentifiable slosh of mud prime from last night’s rain.

“Where do we go!?” I huff to Bishop. “He can’t see our footsteps for now…!”

“I...I don’t know, Rowan...I don’t…” He huffs, chest heaving. He’s broken the arrow shafts off, leaving the points in his flesh to try and conserve blood. But it must hurt so much…

“Bit of shelter. On your right.” I nod in the sheets of rain, and we slide under a particularly tall tree. I take a moment to slap my hair out of my face, yanking the arrowheads out of him with little grace. Before he can yelp I press my mouth to his, reaching my hands down to his wounds and pulsing my healing into them, knitting him back together as best I can. 

“Bishop...whatever happens, I love you,” I say, panting.

“I...love you too, Ladyship, but it won’t end here. I promise you that…” 

“Hah...we’re always running from trouble, aren’t we?” I chuckle hopelessly. “We need to keep moving…” 

“Gods I’m tired…” He breathes. I pull a green vial from my bag, pushing it to his lips.

“Stamina,” I say. “Drink. I only have a few.”

He gulps it down in seconds.

“Thank you,” He breathes. “Alright...alright...where to go...ah…Fuck...Fuck!”

“Bishop you’re panicking...think...calm down. We’re safe for the moment…” The rain covers up our voices, but if someone sees us and can piece together our image in the mosaic of rain...we’re screwed.

“Rowan...I…!” He tries. 

I summon a thin ward above us. The world stops for a moment as the noise deafens, and the rain rolls off my ward lazily. I focus on making my shield larger, thinner, and a bit more curved, covering us with an umbrella-like rain shield that wraps us together in a small, dry bubble if only for the moment.

“Calm down, Bishop. You’re panicking, but we’re safe for now. Where can we go from here? What would be the best solution?” I try not to ask too many questions at once.

“He knows the forest as well as me...if not better. There’s nowhere we can go where he can’t find us…”

“Where are we now?”

“Halfway between Falkreath and Rorikstead, but...a bit south I think. Either way we go, we’re a week from help on foot…”

“Then let’s go even more South.”

“What?”

“The mountains. Back where the vampires were. There’s got to be more hiding, right? Thorn might not follow us up there. And if he does...fuck it. There’s plenty of hiding spots for us too. And I can keep this rain going as long as my throat holds. Let’s go to Hammerfell.”

“He won’t follow us there… too many patrols near the border.” He cracks a weak grin. “Gods, you’re strong.” He remarks.

“We take turns.” I smile, standing up and helping him to his feet. 

Our moment is cut short as an arrow digs itself into my ribs. 

“Fuck!” I shout. 

“THEY’RE OVER HERE!” One of them shouts above the roar of the rain. Bishop’s arrow cuts clean through the lackey’s throat as he pulls the arrow from me, letting my healing take over for a moment, and taking a firm hold of my wrist.

“Rowan, don’t let go of me.” He says.

“Got it.” I nod. “Don’t lose me, Bishop.” 

The split second where our eyes meet in the rain seems to last forever; he’s determined, a bit unsure, but also with slow bubbling confidence somewhere under it all. He just processed that I’m putting my full trust in him--mind and body. He’s accepted it solemnly.

We sprint off with a renewed vigor, heading quite literally for the hills. 

“We’ll reach the mountains in a day or two… if we keep running like this…” Bishop pulls us to a jog as the rain begins to let up. 

I just nod. The light is retreating much faster than usual due to my summoned clouds, washing the world in an unsure black that acts like a living being, ebbing and flowing from every crack and covering like a monster waiting to strike. Thunder rumbles far off every so often, rolling over the forest.

The rain stings as we run--or, rather, jog. Bishop sets the pace just fast enough so we can find our footing in the mudslide, but we’ll have to rest soon. Which is exactly what Thorn wants.

“If I knew more shouts…” I sigh.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“You know, the first Dragonborn could summon a Dragon to his aide… We could have thrown a couple insults and fucked off twenty miles east before he could even fire an arrow,” I pause. “I wonder if I’ll ever get to that level?”

“You’re still young, Ladyship.” Bishop catches my elbow as I nearly slip down the hill. “Barely over twenty and already this strong. You still have a good fifty years to make that legacy of yours.”

“Not if your ex-boss catches us.” I tug him up a boulder. “Know any paths through the mountains?”

“Yeah. We’ll need to veer off a bit. It’s worn down and pretty inaccessible, but…”

“If it’s bad for us, it’s just as bad for them,” I finish.

“Yeah.” He nods. “We can afford to rest soon, I think. We need to keep our strength up while he’s gone.”

“Cave somewhere?”

“There’s gotta be a crevice somewhere.”

“Like about ten feet to our right?”

“...Yeah. Like that.” He sighs. “Thank the Gods…”

“Bishop? Thanking the Gods?”

“If there really are deities, I want to cover my bases while I can.”

“Oh, no, I was going to say you should thank plot conveniency.” I look into the divot in the rock. It’ll barely fit the two of us laying down side-by-side, but it’ll have to do. Where else are we going to go? And we just need a quick nap…

I slide my bag off, pushing it to the side of the mini-cave, and I throw my bedroll to the back. Bishop copies me, and we end up just barely fitting. I throw a lightning rune at the door just to be sure; but I’m exhausted.

“Screw it. Who needs a watch?” I ask, letting him slide in next to me. “ **_STRUN_ ** !”

“Is your throat okay?”

“Yeah. And that rain will last for an hour or so...it should erase our tracks.”

“We definitely do need a watch, Ladyship…”

“Here…” With the last of my magic I summon a tiny familiar; the wolf coming out barely the size of a puppy. He curls up at the entrance of the cave, fluffing his ghostly tail over his nose to keep it warm. “He won’t do much, but he’ll bark to wake us…” 

“...Good enough for me.” Bishop says, loosely draping a bedroll over us and immediately pulling me to him. It’s more of a habit at this point; it feels awkward without his weight helping support me and vice versa. 

We’re asleep within a minute.

…

“Ladyship--wake up!” He slowly coaxes me out of my rest, pulling me back into the real world as readily as a ghost being unceremoniously shoved into a less-than-willing body.

“Hnng--huunn?” I grumble, folding up at the waist. “Shh…” I curl up into a ball on top of the warm spot, breathing out a sigh.

“It’s been a few hours, Rowan--we need to move.” He says finally. “I won’t feel alright until we’re in Hammerfell drinking Yokuti.”

I slowly wake up, getting to my knees only to bump my head on the slanted roof of our little mini cave. 

“Gods...I could’ve sworn that thing with Thorn was a dream…” I barely force my eyes open. “...What time is it?” 

“Around two--” I accidentally flop over onto Bishop, my forehead hitting his shoulder square. “Rowan…”

“Inno...I--know…” I shuffle outside, grabbing my bedroll and slinging my pack onto my shoulder. “Let’s get to Hammerfell…”

“We’re not too far from the passage through. Should be mid-morning…” Bishop watches me nod off, poking my shoulder lightly. “We can sleep once we’re through. If we find a patrol, we stick with ‘em.”

“Yeah…” I yawn. “Stamina potion?” I offer, tilting one back myself.

“Not now.” He drinks from his canteen instead. “My adrenaline is enough right now…”

“Your adrenal gland is going to run dry soon...you may want to drink…” I yawn again, stumbling forward after him in total darkness. 

“I’ll be okay. I had one earlier.” He turns to help me up a boulder. “Gods...how’d it turn out like this?”

“Well first--”

“That was rhetorical, love.”

“More like Rhe-horrible. This fucking sucks.”

“Agreed.” Bishop glances over his shoulders, scanning the rocks below. “Gods… I want Karnwyr back, but if I whistle for him, the echo will give us away…”

“Hold on…” As we walk, I press magic into my palm, forming the same small puppy familiar I created to guard us as we slept. Once he’s fully made I let him snuggle into my pack, making a place for himself amongst the extra clothes. “He can be the lookout.”

“Rowan, you need to conserve your energy.”

“You said we’ll be in Hammerfell by nightfall, right?” 

“Yeah.” He looks to the sun. “We should be coming up on the pass soon…”

“How soon?”

…

“Not soon enough…” I wheeze. 

“It’s up ahead. Calm down.”

“It’s been hours…” I sigh, catching up to Bishop. I look around us; the rocks are permanently snow-capped, and the only foliage to survive up here are a few scraggly snowberry bushes. Even the air is lifeless, being so dry as to even sap my breath for any moisture it holds. The sun feels weaker up here, but I know full well it’ll burn me even faster; and the glare from the snow makes things even worse. 

“I know, I know. But it’s right up…” Bishop points to a dip in the ridge. And as he does, a figure pops up. “There…”

Another figure pops up beside the first. Four more join them. Then eight. Sixteen. All hiding amongst the ridge, guarding the passage. And while the glint off the snow is bad, the glint from their arrowheads are even worse. 

“Fuck!” I grind my teeth as we take off, sprinting down the mountain as fast as we can. The arrows they shoot don’t even come close to where we are; the terrain is too unpredictable to be able to account for all the inclines. But they still shoot. Far enough to scare us off from the passage to Hammerfell, at least.

“God dammit! They read us.” Bishop takes me by the hand as we run down the mountain, muttering a string of curses under his breath that may drag Thorn to the deepest pit of hell. Perhaps Bishop has a daedra too…

“Where...where to now?” I finally catch my breath as we put at least two miles between us. 

“They’re going to pursue us… I just…” Bishop covers his eyes with a hand. “Gods I don’t know what the hell to do. Any sort of smart move we make they’ll predict, and they have the numbers to do it, too…”

“Well…” I pause, letting out a small chuckle. “Hey Bishop.”

“Yes?”

“Want to do something stupid?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Ladyship?”

“Where’s his nearest checkpoint?” I grin. “And how fast will it take us to get there?”

“...” He puts some thought into it. “You have a beautiful mind, love.”

“I know I do.” I crack my wrists. “I have a lot of fire and a need to sleep. You?”

“A lot of rage and an equal amount of arrows.”

“Well then I think we have our game plan.”

…

“Seriously, that is the shittiest road trap I’ve ever seen.” I pause. “Now, we need to do this silently. How often does he check up on his own checkpoints?”

“Not often. Usually the checkpoints send someone out if they get something. And when Thorn does check, it’s just a few guys.”

“Well, I think we can use them as a hotel then, don’t you?”

“I think we can use them for more than that,” Bishop grins evilly. “I wonder how many days it’ll take to discover we’re here?”

“Hopefully more than enough so he thinks we’ve escaped.” I crouch forward. “Now...I’ll get the guy on the landing, you kill the guy on the bridge, and I’ll run inside the tower and kill anyone inside.”

“Not going to burn it down?”

“Well we need it to look intact from a distance, right?”

“It doesn’t have to look that intact…”

“...We can decide that later. Ready?” 

“Yeah. Sure you’ll be okay?” 

“Yep. Three...Two...One…”

“Go.” He commands, his arrow flying. It sinks into its mark on the bridge just my sword meets the flesh of the poor wood elf on the landing. The guy hanging out on the other side doesn’t even notice, and his gaze is still fixed into the distance. I dart across the bridge, careful to throw my sword just as he notices the noise. Three down.

Bishop takes out the second guard that comes out to investigate the noise; and his body falls back into the tower. The uproar it causes amongst the three or so inside the small stone and wood tower is dull and slow, as if everyone is intoxicated. They probably are.

An orc pushes his way out the door, meeting my eyes and swinging his hammer just as fast. I summon my second sword back and block the weight of his warhammer; but he’s fast and the nord with dual axes isn’t looking to play fair. 

I drop the hammer and choose to defend against the blades, feeling it crack into my thigh. Fuck--!

“Shite!” I swear through my teeth, kicking one of the axes away from the Nord. I swing under his last axe and twist, catching the warhammer again to keep it from breaking my leg. I get a slash in before the Nord falls forward onto me, arrow in his neck; normally this would be fine, but it shoves me into the Orc’s grip…

Fuck.

He hauls me up by my armor, a huge palm grasping the front of my tunic. 

“Dragonborn, eh?” He says, the tusks poking out his lips coated in slobber. “And Bishop, I’d assume?” He twists so I’m in the way; if Bishop fires, he’ll be digging his arrow into my back. 

“Right you are.” I say smugly, holding on to his forearm to help support me. 

“Come out, Bishop! I have your girl…” The orc shakes me a bit. “And I’m not feeling charitable.”

“Good.” I twist in his grasp, slapping him with an unstable firebolt that explodes when it touches his green skin. I fall backwards onto the railing and he’s sent spinning into the wall, like two dolls with a firecracker between them. Another instant and there’s an arrow perched in his skull.

“You know...I think...your aim’s gotten better…” I wheeze, standing up. “Ow...that railing hurt…” 

“Knocked your breath out?” Bishop runs over, giving me a quick pat on the back to check for injuries. “Your ribs okay?”

“I gave way to the warhammer, so it isn’t too bad. I’ll let it heal on its own.”

“Alright. What do we do with the bodies?”

“Dunno. Throw ‘em into the forest?”

“Can’t you have some sort of dragonborn disposal service?”

“Convenient, but useless.” I pick up the body of the orc, chucking him off the railing and into the foliage beside the road. 

“If you eat a body, is it cannibalism?”

“Now you’re asking the real questions,” I snort. “I dunno. Would it be half cannibalism?”

“But your body is human, right?”

“With the soul of a dragon,” I confirm.

“I don’t think eating deals with the soul, so wouldn’t it be cannibalism?”

“Maybe it’s soul food. You don’t know.”

“You try it first,” He snickers, throwing the second body off.

“This is morbid. We should stop unless we want to get struck by lightning.” 

“Do the Gods care about hypotheticals?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“I’m just gonna close that there. Now then…” He pauses, looking around. “This one’s pretty remote, but I still feel like we’re going to get unlucky and he’s going to find us…”

“We can stay for a day or two.” I shrug. “I mean, I checked multiple times to see if anyone was following us. And I’ll keep checking, so if I see anything we sneak off. Easy.”

“Anything around?”

“ **_LAAS_ ** !” I look around. “Do we care about a rabbit?”

“Only a hare.” He sighs. “Shit…”

“Aha! You’re doing it too!” I jump over to him, kissing his temple and messing up his hair. “It’s fun, isn’t it!?”

“I’m not like you,” He narrows his eyes at nothing. “God, I don’t mean to do it. I don’t like subjecting people to that.”

“You’re only subjecting me to it,” I snicker. “And frankly, I find it hilarious that out of everything I could have given you from my personality, you get my puns.”

“I wish I got the magic or the medical knowledge,” he grumbles.

“...I can always teach you,”

“No thanks. Sounds tedious.”

…

We both sit by the firepit inside the tower, the smoke winding up the stairs like a snake. If you can get past the blood stains, this place isn’t half bad. The stone keeps it cool even with the fire. We opted for a small blaze, only just enough to heat our food, and because of it this place is actually habitable. Our armor is piled up in the corner as we sit on our bedrolls. We threw all of the others away in a heap in a separate corner. The only things in this place worth keeping were a few poisons, some gold, a necklace, and not much else of note. They did have a lot of booze though.

“Ladyship, if you keep drinking, I think you’re going to die.”

“I’ve only had like…” I look at the bottles next to me. “...Seven…”

“Your heart is going to give out.” 

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not!”

“It is! You’re a doctor and you know it’s true!”

“...So!?”

He just stares at me for a while.

“Ready to sleep?” He asks finally.

“After you woke me up at two? Yes, yes I am.” I slide back into the covers, rolling over a few times. “How long do you think we have here?”

“Two days at best.” He pauses. “Ladyship, check one last time.”

“ **_LAAS YAH!_ ** ” I look around. “Nope...nothing. “

“Huh. I’ve never heard you use the second word.” 

“I usually don’t since it just means I have to recover longer. Doesn’t boost the range or anything.” 

“Huh. So no one around?”

“Nope. Dead as a doornail out there.”

“...Okay…” He says as we drift off.

…

Bishop woke up first. It was an innate sort of caution that was imbedded into him; an alarm is a better word to describe it. Once they opened the lock on the door, Bishop was waiting for them on the other side. 

His dagger went through the poor Bosmer before his comrades even registered he was being attacked. One strike left, one strike right, and Bishop’s kill count was up three. 

I was awake by then and skewered the last one on a sword. But Bishop whisked me half a mile away from the checkpoint before I could even register what had happened. 

“Armor. Put it on.” He orders, letting me rest for a moment beneath a large magnolia tree. “They’re tracking us more aggressively now.”

“How!?” I sputter. 

“Well it appears they do have dogs now…” Bishop mutters. “I heard the barking. Leaked into my dreams.”

“Dogs or wolves?”

“Dogs. But the big, shaggy grey kind. They aren’t a lapdog.”

“Well shite. Think this is what Thorn wanted?”

“To lull us into false security, only to make us work twice as hard the next moment? Yeah,” he says. “I think that’s what he wanted.”

“LAAS!” I look around. Eventually I see the dots of red, approaching quite quickly. “They’re a ways behind us, but moving fast. Not a running pace, but a fast one…”

“We can kill them.” Bishop decides. But just as he does…

An explosion, followed by a red light explodes in the sky like a northern light dying violently. 

“What the fuck was that!?”

“I don’t know--something from Hammerfell?!” I scream back. He takes a hold of my hand and pulls me Northward, setting the pace at a sprint. 

“Whatever the fuck it is, now they know where we are!” We duck under an overhang to get our bearings, nervously watching the treeline. Distant barking makes us anxious; my hands keep acting as if I’m going to summon a sword to them any moment. I might have to. 

“We need to keep moving. There’s a cave nearby with a back entrance.” He tucks some hair that had fallen out of my braid back behind my ear. “We’ll be okay.”

“I know we will. Worse comes to worse, we fight our way out.” I twist my elbows and roll my shoulders. “You lead the way, I’ll pick off any I can see. We can thin their numbers.”

“Alright. This way, then…”

He leads the whole way to the narrow-mouthed cave; something a glacier probably carved out before the dawn of humans.

“It gets pretty narrow, Ladyship. You aren’t claustrophobic, are you?”

“...Little bit.”

“Well…” He pauses. “Good luck!”

“Gee, thanks.” I snort. 

That was the last line I spoke that wasn’t riddled with anxiety. 

Its teeth were stopped by the leather in my riding pants, but that didn’t stop it from knocking me over and snapping at my neck. 

I had what seemed like minutes of a struggle, but Bishop later told me it was only about thirty seconds before he put down the dog. He had me up in the next thirty seconds, making the whole ordeal a minute total; but my heart beat so many times in that short amount it was equivalent of twenty. 

It took us ten minutes to get to the end of the cave and squeeze too the other side. I remember none of it. 

I was still trying to get the bleeding under control. 

It had been a while since I saw that amount of my own life. 

Now, if it had been my arm, my leg, etc, I would have no issue healing it while we ran. But I have to be a bit more careful with my throat. Vocal cords are delicate, after all.

The next twenty minutes were much longer. 

Bishop said I didn’t say much. Just muttering something. 

When I really came-to, I was in the light of a badly made torch, staring into the ranger’s eyes. 

“...Bishop?” I asked, my mind slightly aloof.

“Thank the Gods…” He breathes. “You were panicked, but… not in a coherent way. You went on autopilot-- Gods, Rowan…” 

“I don’t know what happened.” I pull my hand away from my neck. “I...actually got bit, right?” 

“Not a dream.” He pauses. “Are...you alright?”

“Yeah...I mean, I think so…”

“...Are you okay to move?”

“I...guess.” I stand. “Gods…!”

“They’re a short ways behind us,” he says, lip curling slightly in disgust along with his sneer. “What fucking bastards!”

“...Think they’re taking shifts?”

“Definitely…” He sighs. “I...don’t know what to do.” 

“I don’t know what to do either…” I sigh. We stop walking. 

Another explosion marker screams above our heads, throwing red in all directions. Distant shouting and more barking throw us in gear.

“They’ve found the dog,” Bishop says solemnly. 

“Appears so. Think they know about the cave?” 

“Yeah,” He says, quietly. “They have to. They’re like me. They know.”

“Where...where can we go?”

“Falkreath is…” Bishop turns around, looking around him confused. “I...don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track of where we went after that dog and…” 

I can’t say anything to keep him from panicking.

“I can’t get my bearings in the night…” He bites his lip, drawing blood. His brow knits together and he clamps his hand around the pommel of his sword. 

“If...the mouth of the cave is that way…” I point to where the firework went off. “Where would Falkreath be?”

“I...think we’re closer to Rorikstead…” He scratches his neck nervously. “Gods I can’t even remember. We ran to the mountains and went parallel with them, but…”

“They were on our left while we ran… mostly.” I think. “Alright, so we might be closer to Rorikstead. Where is Rorikstead if the mouth of that cave is Southeast?”

“Northwest.” He says at last, righting himself. “Alright… we can do this.”

“That’s my navigator.” I smirk. “Now, let’s get going…”

“Gods, I’m exhausted.”

“I am too.” I nod. “But they aren’t exactly going to let us sleep, now are they?” 

“No. And that’s what they’re counting on,” he sighs. “I...there’s a chance we can make it to Rorikstead. We just have to get close.”

“How far away do you think?”

“Four...five days travel on foot? If we don’t take nights, that is.” He sighs. “How many stamina potions do you have?”

I dig through my pack viciously, pulling out the grass green vials. 

“Four.” 

“Two per person. We’ll need to space them out…” He scratches his neck as we walk ahead. “Gods.”

“This is going to be difficult. They’ll lose their potency if we keep drinking them…”

“Can you make any more?”

“It’d take me hours. We can’t afford to stop for that long.” 

…

Day four. Bishop and I both drank a potion. They’re somewhere behind us; we can still see them on occasion running in the trees beside us. The dogs are wary as they smell the blood of their own, but they’re still on our trail. 

We climbed one of the short hills to see if we could figure out their numbers. The day shift has five people on horses. However, they can’t go faster than the dogs can sniff us out. 

…

Day five. The night shift has three people on foot, but three dogs to match. They need to keep us moving to tire us out, but not get ahead enough to leave behind the day shift.

We tried to sleep. We were found out pretty quickly.

In the struggle that followed, I took a nasty fall down a small precipice. One of the stamina vials broke.

…

Day six. 

“Bishop, I don’t...think I can go on any longer…” I say. I’m leaning on him already. After one of the vials broke, I insisted he drink the last one; his navigation is keeping us alive. 

“Just… another day or two, Ladyship…” He wraps an arm around my hips, pulling me to him a bit closer. At this point, he’s walking for me. But his eyelids are just as heavy as mine, and his wounds just as bad.

I lost all magic yesterday, after I panicked and used a fireball. 

We’re stuck like this until I can sleep. My potions to restore my magic won’t do anything if I don’t have the strength to cast spells.

“Bishop, you’re just as bad…” I push myself off of him, plodding along with my own effort laboriously. 

“Yeah, well, my rage alone is enough to get me through this.” He nervously glances behind him.

“The dogs are faster than us, Bishop. No amount of willpower will let us outrun dogs like this…”

“I...I know,” he pauses. “There’s a poacher outpost nearby. Just pray it isn’t occupied…”

“If it is…” I try to think of a solution. Normally I’d just say use brute force to get anyone unsavory out, but… “We explain our position and ask if they can leave, since it’d be for their own good…”

“Until they try and kill us,” Bishop adds dryly. 

“Hope.” I command as he steers us towards the shack.

It feels like eternity until we arrive. It was a rickety, one room house, with a dresser and something vaguely resembling a bed. It did have what probably used to be a straw mattress, but the hole in the roof above it had reduced it to a wrinkled bag. 

I flip it over, exposing at least somewhat of a full surface to sleep on. It’s misshapen, and patchy, and there’s a sapling growing out at the foot of it, but I don’t care. We’ve quite literally not slept in days. 

Sleep.

I barely even think of the concept before I’m out, sprawled out on the pseudo-bed, one arm loosely draping Bishop. 

I was tired.

Very, very tired. So tired my body put me in a coma. 

And I didn’t even wake when a particularly large Breton picked me up.

Bishop did. He struggled a bit. They had poisons to keep us under, though. And it was one tired man versus five well-rested soldiers. Not much of a fight. One quick slit across the base of our necks and we were out for hours.


	55. Scraping By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning: it's Thorn, so the rape vibes are strong in this one. Take caution as needed.

“Dragonborn…” Pioth called.

“Fuck off~” I call back, sweetly.

“Wake up. Your life depends on it.”

“Meh.”

“So does Bishop’s.”

I was awake then. 

“What’s going on?”

“That unsavory man captured you. I really thought a trained warrior like you would have more stamina, my dear Dragonborn.”

“Shut up…” I look around. My hands are bound behind me, and I’m tied to the wall by a rope lead. It’s a stone dungeon room, with a heavy oak door with bars on a small window being my only ticket to the outside. “They’re sloppy, even for some useless bandits. Look at this…” I tug at it once. “So burnable.”

“Not wise.” Pioth’s standing in the middle of the room, black robe sweeping against the floor. “You’ve been doused in some sort of flammable liquid. You can’t smell it...but I can.”

“...Well, maybe they’re a bit smarter than I thought.” I pause. “So where am I?”

“You’re currently in their hideout, a modified fort.” He holds out his palm, and a small miniature of the building I’m in appears. It looks like Fort Sunguard, with many, many more additions, as if a second fort has been placed to its back. “I believe you’re in the West tower.”

“Any way you can get me out of this?” I tug at the ropes.

“Sorry my dear, but I’m not tangible. This is all in your head…” He crouches down beside me. “I can’t even lend you any of my power...you took it all anyway.” 

“Is this the part where you ask for some power back?”

“You don’t exactly have a choice. The only reason you still have your tunic and breeches is from an act of good faith by yours truly.”

“God, men are some of the most corrupted, soul sucking beings…” I look to him. “After you, of course.”

“Of course.” He stoops down. “So?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll give you some of your power back…” I shrug despite the bonds. “Now help me.”

He brushes a hand along my cheek, his palm hot and uncomfortable against my skin. 

And now...I’m suddenly tired again…

“I...said some, asshole…” I yawn, my eyes fluttering closed. “Now get...me out...of here…”

“Did I agree to that? I can’t remember,” He smiles. “All I remember is you saying you’d give me power.”

“It was an agreement…! You can’t go back on that, Dremora!”

“Wasn’t an agreement. You just said you’d give me a gift.” He smiles wider. “Well, I’m off. If you need me for anything, just give me a call~”

“As if, bastard…”

“You really do look pitiful like that. But somehow, it’s fitting to see you restrained. After all, it’s what I’m after as well,” he says, the false sweetness in his words making me want to hurl. “I won’t get you out of this cell, but I will do this…” He snaps his fingers and the rope binding my wrist breaks at the top, still leaving my wrists bound. But at least I can move freely.

“Get out of my sight already.” I snarl. And just like that, he’s gone. Disappeared off to whatever hellish plan he’s plotting. 

“Remember: I’m always with you, little Rowan; all you have to do is ask the right questions and offer the right deals.” 

Then I’m completely alone.

In a dark cell, with water dripping down from multiple cracks in the ceiling. I can’t burn anything; I’m still doused in whatever flammable stuff they put on me. And there’s nothing I can use to cut my binds.

If it wasn’t a challenge, it wouldn’t be interesting, I suppose. 

I summon a dagger to my hands, then drop it down into my lap; this is going to take some maneuvering. I wedge it between my thighs so the blade points up and squeeze it tight, and rub my binds along the length of the blade. This is some tough rope…

It comes undone and the bonds fall away. But as they hit the ground, I hear feet hitting the stone as well; guards are coming this way. 

I wonder where Bishop is. Is he safe? Pioth said Bishop was in danger; but I don’t know how imminent it is. And despite my worry, he is capable. More capable than me in situations like this. So all I can do is swallow this knot in my throat and continue to escape. 

I’ll find him.

I sit back down against the wall, pressing my wrists to the wall just above where the rope was severed. I take my binds and loosely loop them over my wrists to hide the cut, and I wait.

The footsteps grow louder with each passing moment, matching my heartbeat. I feel like I’ve swallowed a hive of bees with how fast my heart is racing…

“Girlie?” One of the guards call. The two guards peek out into my field of view, appearing at the barred door. I hang my head down, hoping they still think I’m asleep…

“She still out o’ it?” The other one asks. “Thorn wants her now, though…”

“We just...wake her up, then…” 

“He said not to rough ‘er up too much. Thas sommat’ he wants to do.” I hear keys jingle as they’re pulled from a belt. 

“We gittin’ her next, unnit?”

“I dunno...not sure there’s gonna be som’ dem’ left after Thorn…”

“Guess we can jus’ take a crack at the other one…” He shrugs. “Get out sum’ rage an all…”

“I never knew ‘im. You?”

“Aye, but for a trice only. He’s a huge asshole.”

Yeah, I agree with that guy.

The door opens and the two of them walk in.

“Hey, woman!” The one barks angrily.

“Out cold… yunnknow, I didn’t know what dose of the gleamblossom to give ‘er…”

“The other woke up hours ago…” The second one sighs. “I guess we just bring her as is…?”

“Yeah...won’t make much difference. Thorn may e’en like it like that…”

“Don’t give me that image.”

“Sorry, but you know ‘ow he is…” By the sound, this first one is coming closer to me. He’ll see the binds any second…

“Wait a second--”

I spring up, my dagger severing his carotid and spraying the hay on the ground with a fine mist. The second draws his sword in time, but not fast enough to actually use it; I grab his arm and twist it behind him, taking the sword for my own and instead threatening his pelvis with my dagger.

“Where’s Bishop?” I ask, making sure the point of my dagger draws blood.

“I...I don’t know!” He yells. I throw his sword aside and loop my arm over his neck, bending him over backwards so I can muffle any attempts he makes to get help. 

“That your final answer?”

“I...dunno...East tower!? At...at the top!” The dagger sinks a little further.

“If you don’t want to be castrated, you’ll start remembering. What’s planned for Bishop?”

“Thorn’s gonna…!”

He slips unconscious. I bend down immediately to take his keys.

I was holding him a bit too tight.

“Fuck!” I growl, kicking his unconscious body. Whatever! I’ll find him. East tower, at the top… a good place to start, I suppose. 

Didn’t Pioth say I’m in the West tower?

I’m going to cross the entire damn fort.

Fuck.

What time is it? If it’s night, I could sneak around…

I run through the short hallway, keeping an eye out for any guards or doors that might help. I doubt my stuff is in my tower; Thorn’s probably smart enough to either have discarded everything or for it to be kept with him. I don’t know which part of the tower I’m in, but I think...I think I’m also in the top. I immediately started to go down the stairs once I found them; judging by the light coming in through the loophole windows, it’s daytime. Going outside would be suicide.

I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. And I still haven’t found anyone else. And I’m sick...and tired.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I take a moment at the bottom to breathe for a few seconds and look around. I avoided the one door on the stairs as I assumed it led to outside, but I can’t decide whether or not it’d be better to go through the fort or on top of it. I can hear a dull roar echo to me from deep within the fort, and the noise is making me ill…

I’ll look at that one door. We’ll see how it is along the outside...and I guess I’ll go from there.

I sneak back up the stairs, still trying to ignore how weird it is I haven’t run into anyone. My brain nags me… but I don’t know how to calm it down, so all I can do is ignore it. 

My hands freeze as I hold the door handle, slowly cracking open the door. And as I do… I lay eyes on… absolutely no one. It’s deserted. Empty. The entire topside of the fort is silent. 

“Laas...Yah!” I look around, the red dots uneven. There’s a mass of red under my feet, in the depths of the fort...and the only red that isn’t there is across from me, in the tower. There’s a red figure at the top, not moving; but that’s all I can see from here.

I’m coming for you, Bishop…

I step outside, gingerly, looking around to make absolutely sure I’m alone. But I can’t see any other red; it’s all under me. 

I don’t like this. I’m getting Bishop and we’re leaving. Immediately. I don’t care about his revenge… I just want us as far away from here as humanly possible.

I don’t bother to conceal myself as I sprint across the fort, not bothering to think things through; I leap over the small retaining wall and jump down the stairs, crossing the crumbling bridge and swinging myself up the short wall. 

I nearly break the door as I swing it open and jump inside, but I don’t stop to check as I run up the stairs three at a time, my heart racing and my head pounding. I’m nearly there. I don’t know how much time I have. 

The door’s in front of me… 

I’m here.

“Bishop--” I fling open the door, wildly looking around the space. It didn’t look like a jail cell at all. In fact, it looked more like a normal bedroom.

“You know, usually, the mouse doesn’t seek out the cat…” I feel strong hands grab hold on my neck and waist, pulling me back against a warm body. My head is screaming. “Hello, Dragonborn. I didn’t know you were so eager to meet me…” 

…

The punches didn’t even really hurt anymore. Bishop had become numb to them a while ago. Rowan was stronger than these weaklings; the only reason they could get by was because of their numbers. They barely even made him flinch. He was battered, but hell if he’d bow to these fuckers. He still needed to find Rowan. He hadn’t heard anything about her since they put him here, in the main hall; too many voices at once. And a certain right hook from a particularly large Orc had made his head pretty fuzzy.

The rules were simple. Bishop was tied to a chair on the middle of the floor, and everyone else got a number. Starting with one, they’d each get a good punch in, and once they got to the end, they’d start over. He doesn’t remember what number they were at. Didn’t really care, either. 

He was too busy listening to the talk from all around him.

_ “I don’t want to run all the way to Rorikstead-- it’s a two day run! I ain’t got no horse!” _

_ “Gah… I’m really waitin’ for Thorn to give the go-ahead…” _

_ “Do we have any more spiced wine?” _

_ “I’m tired-- can’t wait to sleep. I’ve been on a horse for days…” _

_ “When’s number 28?” _

_ “Where’s the girl? She gonna’ be here too?” _

Bishop focused on that one. They probably hate him, but if the Gods favor Rowan even a little, they’ll help him here…

“Alald and Soran were s’posed to go get ‘er… but they ain’t back yet.”

“Shite. Think Thorn’s gettin’ first?”

“Probably. But he’s ain’t gonna do it yet.”

“Why not?”

“Dunno. He actually likes this one, for some reason. ‘Spect or something.”

“Shite, I almost feel bad for the gal.”

“Ain’t this one the dragonborn?”

“Aye. Thorn likes the danger, I’guess. She’s weak now...but I saw what she did at that checkpoint… she fights like a she-wolf mixed with a demon... I’ve never seen that much carnage, and I’ve seen what happens when a bear wanders into a farmer’s house...”

“Well, if anyone could crack a Dragon like that, it’d be the boss… Guess he’s gotten bored of wrestlin’ trolls...”

“He’s the type that gets off huntin’ dangerous shite, ain’t he?”

“Oh yeah. Though I don’t know how he’s gonna one-up conquering the Dragonborn. Do you?”

“Aye, he’d have to fight Talos himself.”

“Think he’s keepin’ the Dragonborn?”

“Aye, definitely. He’s probably just gonna use ‘er for training and...the like.”

Bishop had heard enough. He had to get out of here… but there’s way too many people. Fuck! Rowan’s capable, but Thorn’s too much for her to handle in this state.

Bishop’s still groggy from the poison. He can only imagine how Rowan is.

…

“Aw, don’t fight me Rowan...we haven’t even arrived yet…” Thorn purrs as he forces me down the stairs. The large crooked dagger against my collarbone burns as it sways back and forth with the movement. 

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, forcing my fear down. “Where the hell is Bishop?”

“Who cares?” Is all he asks. “You’re the one I’m after. Whatever happens to the ranger happens-- he’s no longer useful.”

“You fucker…!” I tense my body, grabbing hold of his arms around me and swinging myself up. I swing my leg back, aiming for his groin, but all I get is a solid punch to the head that sends me against the wall.

“Don’t think you can get away, little girl…” He bites his lip as he watches me sink down the wall, trying to get my bearings. I can’t find them; only him hauling me up gives me an idea of my orientation. My head lolls down, and his big hand holds it up barely so I can watch myself descend down the stairs. 

At the bottom of the staircase is a rusty iron door--no, it isn’t rusty. 

The brownish red splattered against the hinges and bars isn’t rust. 

No.

He opens it gingerly, shoving me inside and stepping into the room. He turns to lock the door from a set of keys on his belt, and I hear a solid CLACK-BOOM from the mechanism.

“Now then...Dragonborn…” He turns towards me. “This is going to be your home from now on.”

I look around me. It’s a large hall-like room, with broken pillars and tattered cloth littering the floor. The torch sconces barely light the room, and there’s no windows. There’s puddles on the floor from where water seeped in, but it nearly looks intentional…

It’s an arena. 

“You know, you’re really fucked in the head.” I say, noticing the chains along the wall. Apparently I wasn’t the first thing held here.

“What, think I’d just rape you and be done with it?” He smiles a bit at the candid thought. “No...no. You’re too powerful for that. Even I know that’d just be useless in breaking you. You’re a strong girl… and I quite like that.”

“So I’m just entertainment?”

“If that’s what you want to call yourself, be my guest.” 

“I’m going to bash your head against that door so hard I’ll bust it open.” I pause. “The door, I mean. But hopefully your head too.”

“That’s the spirit.” He grins, watching me stand and shakily find my ground under me. “Now fight me, Dragonborn. Your life depends on it. Give me a good workout to satisfy me. Then I’ll just use you and go torture that ranger of yours…” 

He’s trying to taunt me so I fly into a rage and use up all my energy. But I’m stronger than that. I know better than that.

I summon a battleaxe to my side.

“No twin swords? But that’s what you’re known for!” He says, trying to feign innocence.

“I’m not a wild animal...shite, what was your name again? Twig...no… something to do with a rose...” I twist slightly, wiping my palm as hard as I can on my tunic. I feel whatever oil it was leave residue on my tunic. I’m going to have to be careful...

“THORN! Woman, THORN!” 

There we go. I take a few deep breaths, taking the moment to clear my mind and calm my heart. Level-headedness is the key to survival.

“I keep forgetting, sorry. I’ve fought so many people with weird names, it’s hard to keep track of them all...Miraak, Harkon...not to mention all the dragons…” I shrug. “Now then… is this really what you want?”

“It seems I’ve underestimated you, Rowan. You’re not nearly as smart as I thought.” 

“Really?” I shrug. “Didn’t know I made that much of an impression…” I form the purple mist carefully in my palm. The battleaxe needs to be swung with two hands, so if I’m forming a spell I can’t swing it. I need to keep him talking.

“I thought for all these months I’d finally get to fight someone interesting…” He looks down on me, stepping forward slightly. “But it seems like you’re just a lucky imbecile, just like the rest.

I loop some miasma over itself, knotting it to strengthen my bond. 

“Aw, I’m so sorry to disappoint, Thorn. Real shame. It’s a real shame that you turned out to be a real idiot, too.” I slam the miasma into the ground, pulling a Wrathman out of the void with some effort. I never summon these-- it’s the most powerful thing in my arsenal, but the most taxing; but it’ll serve it’s purpose. 

“You little--!” He starts.

Time stops, just long enough for me to assess this.

I have a wrathman. I saw them in the Soul Cairn-- it took some time to make one, but he should be able to take a few hits. Thorn is a large nord, so magework probably isn’t his forte at all. I don’t think I have to expect any healing spells or wards either. He’s going to rely mainly on his brute strength to fight, doubly so considering his loose fur armor. He’ll have to get close immediately. I have some reach with this battleaxe, but I’d like to avoid fighting with it. I can’t let it fade either. 

I can’t beat him as I am. I’m exhausted, I’m still poisoned, I’m hungry, and my throat is parched. My head hurts and I feel ill. 

I can’t win.

But I may not have to.

Time begins again. I swing the battleaxe on to my back, readying myself for another spell.

This...is going to hurt. And I’m going to regret it later. 

Laws be damned…!

I summon the bow to me, nocking a ghostly arrow. I can feel my magic slowly draining from me in a confused mess, but It’ll do. 

The wrathman lumbers up to Thorn, and he doesn’t even bother to draw his axe; he simply punches the poor summon out of the way. But I was counting on that. The arrow sinks into Thorn’s left breast, threatening his heart; it’d be a mortal wound for someone smaller.

“DRAGONBORN!” He roars, pulling the arrow out. He advances to me with speed not fitting someone his size, and he draws his battleaxe in a fury.

I duck out of the way, sliding back and into the wall. My next arrow whizzes past his cheek, drawing blood but not doing much else…

The wrathman sinks his battleaxe into Thorn’s shoulder. He roars and wrenches around, throwing the wrathman into the wall with a sickening snap. He fades away into the dust silently; but the distraction is all I needed. 

I’m already to the door.

My last arrow kisses Thorn’s side lovingly, the needlepoint burrowing into flesh. I twirl around, simultaneously letting the bow fade and drawing my axe. 

My axe cleaves through the door, severing the deadbolt, and I kick it open and let the axe fade. 

“Bye!” I say, not taking the time to get my bearings and instead sprinting up the stairs.

I have no magic left. I can’t let him catch me. But he’s injured now, and with any luck, he’ll be too slow to do anything.

“You’re interesting, Dragonborn! I can’t wait to have you!” He screams, still in the dungeon. God, he sounds giddy!

I find the door to the top and rip it open, and I sprint across the fort to the other tower. My breathing is ragged, I’m tired as hell and I have no equipment… but I’ll make it. We’ll make it. Somehow. 

I reach the other tower and bust down the door, sprinting down the steps and…

Tripping.

The stairs here are uneven, as they are in most forts, and my foot hits the edge and slips. I fall forward, hitting the stairs with a crack as I roll down the rest. I curled my arms up above my head, but…

One of the stairs...hit right at my spine. 

I’m partially paralyzed.

My breath comes in short, ragged gasps and my head feels way too light for my shoulders. I force my body to roll to my knees. I grab the wall. Left foot...right foot…

My eyes close for a second, and I pretend just for a moment that I’m out of this nightmare. But when I open my eyes, I just feel sadness instead of calm.

I think...once we get out of this… I’m going to sleep for days. 

I can’t keep thinking about how tired I am. 

I stumble forward, mind blank, and an animalistic part of me decides to stumble towards the dull roar erupting from the depths of the fort. The hallway is deserted; I guess everyone’s down in wherever the noise is coming from.

Should I go see if I can find anything useful?

Any weapon I find is worse than what I can summon. And the armor would either be stupid fur or something too heavy for me to use with my fighting style.

This… is going to be one hell of a fight. 

The hallway is completely dark as I stumble down like a blind kitten, feeling my way with one hand trailing along the wall.

“Rowan... “ Pioth sings. “How are you doing…?”

“About as good as I look.”

“You know I can’t judge human appearance.”

“So fuck off.”

“Well you’re going to call me soon, so I figure I may as well show up a bit early.” I can roughly make out his figure in the dark. He’s moving backwards at the same pace as I’m moving forwards, as if he’s something imprinted on my eyes.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well.”

“Well what?”

“That is your choice…” He disappears. 

I keep moving.

Blood drips from my lip as I chew it in anticipation, the voices growing louder by the moment. It’s the roar of a hundred men, like they’re judging a gladiator death match. What the hell is going on!?

At the end of the hall is a rectangle of blinding light. I stumble through, ready to fight the world…

They don’t notice me. I’m one level above the main hall, overlooking the sea of bandits who mingle below. Some are drinking and eating at the long tables, but the majority make a ring around Bishop, tied to a chair. 

I’m going to enjoy blasting them all.

My eyes narrow until Bishop is all I see; my focus slips out for a moment and then I can see everyone. 

A fireball wells up in my palm, crackling angrily with an insidious maroon fire that will burn hot enough to melt iron. Where should this go? Probably near the doors. If I can light those tables on fire…

…

“Dragonborn, I don’t think that’s wise...after all, I could snap this thin wrist of yours in an instant,” Thorn says, hand gripping my forearm with a vice grip. “Bishop!” He calls out.

All the men stop. They turn towards the balcony. Bishop does too.

God, he looks awful. Though I suppose we both do.

Thorn’s other arm snakes around my waist, pulling me tightly to him. By the looks of him, the wounds I gave him did absolutely nothing.

“You--!” I gasp.

“Look at your little Dragonborn!” He shrieks gleefully. Bishop struggles in vain down below, yelling some incoherent threat up at Thorn.

I can’t hear it. But Thorn can. He laughs; it’s a deep, throaty laugh that shakes me to my core. And after that… I can’t stop shivering.

“She’s so scared… She puts on a brave face, but she’s quivering like a puppy! Reminds me of you and Cas when you just started!” Thorn’s voice booms. He watches Bishop struggle for a few more seconds, then stopped. A huge grin grew on his face.

“Two of you--empty out the storage room on the second level and lock him in. Leave him there.” He smiles wider, if that was possible. “And you, little princess, are coming with me.” 

I never even noticed his dagger. It was the same sort of poison from when I was first captured at the poacher’s retreat; one quick little nick and my heart and breathing slowed.

“You...fucking...bastard…” I croak out as he hauls me over his shoulder. 

“Correct.” 

…

I could barely breathe as he walked down the final hallway. Bishop had been shoved in a small storage room and locked inside; as we passed he tried his best to break down the door. Thorn just laughed. 

“I bet you can hear it from there, Bishop!” Thorn says, walking into his chamber. Both of our packs were in his room side-by side. My things were scattered on a dresser, vials tilted on their side and potion ingredients littering the surface and ground around my poor pack. Both my and Bishop’s armor were there, too, almost on display. “At least now I can take my time in the comforts of my own room…”

He slung me on the bed with little grace. 

“Do try and cry out as much as your limited breathing will allow. I think it’s more humane to kill Bishop emotionally before I kill him physically.” He pushes my head to the side, his breath tickling the underside of my chin. It’s hot and sticky; it feels disgusting. “Imagine the surprise I felt when I heard Bishop was actually travelling with a woman! And supposedly one he actually cared about! But you--you’re just the gift that keeps on giving! I already was going to hunt you down and torture you to get back at Bishop for spitting in my face… but it seems like I can play with you for a lot longer than an ordinary woman. I doubt you break easily.” 

I feel my tunic rip as he pulls it off. I can’t say anything; I can barely process what my eyes are seeing. He’s on top of me, still grinning. I’ve withdrawn into my mind to preserve my sanity.

I take a shallow breath.

“ _ Pioth _ .” I call in my mind.

_ “Yes, child?” _

_ “Get me out of this. I want him dead.”  _

_ “No matter what the cost?” _

I ponder that.

“ _...What do you want? _ ”

“ _ You know what I want. _ ”

I bite my tongue.

“ _ What are your terms? _ ”

_ “You know, Rowan, most people who know you think you’re a saint. They think you have no flaws, and that all you do is make the right choice. But that isn’t true.” _

_ “This choice only affects me--” _

_ “Does it? Are you sure?”  _

_ “You want me as a vessel. This only concerns my body.” _

_ “...If you believe so, it must be true.” _

_ “What. Are. Your. Terms?” _

_ “I give you my strength now, and once the enemies in this fort are vanquished, I take your body. Simple.” _

_ “I...Bishop’s here, I can’t…” _

_ “That is your deal, Dragonborn.” _

_ “Give me a month. Help me out of here and let me close things out.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Two weeks.” _

_ “I am impatient, Dragonborn.” _

_ “A week. And I get to do the talking to Thorn and Bishop.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Pioth, if you choose to leave me like this, I swear I will make it my personal goal to suppress you and take you with me when I die.” _

_ “...Fine. You have seven days.” _

My strength returns in an instant. I shift myself up, then down, and then up again, throwing Thorn off of me and against the wall. The boom he makes when his skull and body hit the stone is satisfying as hell. 

“How are you--!?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I walk over to the dresser, taking my spare tunic and looping it over my head. I hear Thorn get up behind me, taking a sword off his side table, but I don’t care. I’m too busy throwing on my dragon armor. 

He comes behind me, trying to swing. I’m ready.

In an instant I’ve turned on him, and my fist meets his sternum in the heaviest hitting punch I’ve ever thrown. He topples over into his own bed, grabbing out for anything to stop his fall; he grabs a post on the bed and brings the entire thing down with him. 

I pull my faulds on and secure them to my belt. My gloves take another moment to put on.

Thorn’s not done. He stands again, pulling the bits of broken wood off of him.

“You bitch… I swear…”

“You swear what? That you’ll die like the fool you are? Thinking you could tame a dragon?”

“How the hell did you recover--”

“A dragon would rather lose her life than her pride.” I pull my necklaces over my head and twist on my rings. The celtic knot necklace glimmers from on top of the dragon scale tunic where it belongs. It’s comforting. 

“No matter.” He pulls the sword to him again, still staring at my back. I’m idly braiding my hair back into its proper place. “I don’t like disobedient toys.”

“You say that as if you’re in control here.” I finish it off with a ribbon, letting it fall behind me. Once I’m finished I begin to pack my things back into my pack calmly. 

He rushes me one last time, but I’m going to settle this with my fists. 

I spin under his first swing, jabbing into his tricep to lock out his muscles. I grab his forearm and twist, hitting the sword from his grip. 

With a roar he grabs my shoulders and tries to headbutt me. I twist out of his grasp and punch into his stomach, slowing him down. He tries one last time with a shoddy right hook, but now he’s the tired one; I lean back and end it with a square kick to the chest. 

He falls backwards and hits the wall. I walk over smugly, leaning down to look him even in the face. 

“Ain’t that a bitch?” I ask. 

He raises his hand to slap me. I grab my belt knife.

But I’m not going to kill him.

I pin the offending hand to the wall with my knife. He only gives out a weak grunt, trying not to give me the satisfaction of making him cry out.

“Finish it, Dragonborn.” He snarls.

“I’m not going to be the one to do it.” I walk over to the dresser, pulling my pack to me and slinging it securely on my back. I pick Bishop’s up too, checking the contents over quickly before walking out of the room. 

I pull the ring of keys I got from the guard out, flipping through them. I stand in front of Bishop’s door, testing each one. 

“Bishop?” I call weakly. My voice is hoarse and my throat is dry. 

“Rowan!? Rowan--are you okay!?” He pounds against the door. “Just give me a second--!”

“I’m fine, Bishop.” I finally get the right key, pulling it open.

When the door finally opens and reveals us to each other…

Everything stopped moving.

We look each other over. Bishop has a busted lip, bruising along his cheekbone, and random cuts and scrapes along every inch of exposed skin. As for me, I have knife cuts, scratch marks, and the disheveledness of my clothes to tell him everything. 

He was fast. He grabbed me out of the hallway and pulled me to him and out of sight, his breath ragged and uneven. I wrapped a hand around his shoulder and another around his neck, slowly guiding his head to my shoulder so he could calm down. 

“I’m here. I’m alright.” I rub his back, feeling his arms squeeze me tightly. 

“Rowan…!”

“Breathe.” I command. And he does just that.

“What did he do to you? How did you escape? Does anyone know? We need to get out of here--! Where’s the exit!?”

“One question at a time. Take your pick.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I didn’t let him do anything.”

He exhaled, and with it went most of the tension in his body. 

“Where is he now?” 

“...Immobilized in his room.”

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” The worry quickly runs out to anger. I hand him his bag gingerly, watching him sling it on his back. 

“Your armor and sword is on his dresser, waiting for you. Do you have the strength?”

“Always. And you?”

“I’m going to kill everyone else in this depraved fort.” I turn towards him, bringing my hands to his face. I push some healing magic to my fingertips, brushing some of the cuts and scrapes away. It’ll erase the bruises, too. “I’ll finish later.”

“Yeah.” He turns away from me, hesitates, then faces me again. “Rowan…”

“Yes?” I ask. He gently takes my chin in his hand, pressing his lips to my temple. 

“Burn this place to the ground, love.” 

“You know me too well…” The flames flicker to life in both my eyes and palm. Bishop cracks a small grin despite the circumstance, and he enters Thorn’s room without another word.


	56. Bit of a Tight Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another 2am release for you all! Warning: This one is full of angst. I'm so sorry. (But not really)

She’s been asleep for the past few hours. And despite how tired Bishop is, he can’t bring himself to sleep now. The two horses they have now, given to them by the former inhabitants of Thorn’s fort, were faster and stronger than Gradient and Ashes. They made it to Whiterun in under a day. Now they’re in the one room above the tavern. He already fed the Companions some lie that she’s sick with the Hammerfell flu. 

She told him everything, start to finish, about what’s happened. Pioth-- he thinks that’s how he says his name-- is his current enemy.

He wishes she told him sooner.

He also wished he believed her at first.

But wishing isn’t going to help at all.

It sounded like a joke at first, and hell, it still does. Until you see how her skin seems to be getting paler and her mind suddenly runs blank every so often, as if someone else has slipped in a memory or command to try and mess with her control. 

Rowan’s awake now, by some God’s power. She sits up slowly, using him as support, rubbing her eyes gently as if they were fuzzy. Most of her bodyweight leans onto him.

“Rowan? How do you feel?”

“As good as I look. Shut up.” She says, but her eyes aren’t on Bishop. They’re downcast, looking far beyond the bed, as if there’s some portal under them that only she can see. 

“What?”

“Do we have anything to eat?” Her head snaps up again. It looks as if she hasn’t slept despite the past hours. Her eyes looked glazed. He doesn’t like it. 

“Yes, yes we do.” He had some food brought up to the room.

“Nah.” She purses her lips at the sight of the normal food, leaning back a bit. “Not that.”

This is weird. Rowan has never been picky. And even if she was-- it’s bread, cheese, and meat. Not much to sniff at. 

“Okay…” He sighs, putting the platter away.

“I need to use the washroom,” She swings her legs over the bed, getting up methodically. She looks a bit like a marionette on twisted bits of string, with a particularly slow puppetmaster

She leaves and comes back in a blink of an eye. With a bit of maneuvering she finally wiggles herself under the covers again, yawning and breathing in deeply. 

“Bishop, I don’t feel right. I’m sorry.” 

“I know you don’t. Just sleep--you’ll be alright soon.”

Her eyes opened and focused on him for a few scant seconds. She exhaled, looking as if she wanted to tell him something, but she quickly settled down again. Instead, she just settles her hand so it overlaps his. 

He doesn’t know what to do. They aren’t in any condition to move--it was already a struggle just to get here, and they’re too wounded to leave this inn. 

He grimaced and stood up from the bed. He walked over to the vanity, peering into the looking glass once, twice, three times--just to make sure this was real.

“Bishop…?” Rowan called. “Why’re you...um…” She forgot the word for ‘standing’. It happens every now and then. Before, it was ‘armor’, ‘sleep’, and even for a split second, Bishop’s name. She stopped talking for a few hours after that incident. 

“Give me a moment. I have to do something.” He headed downstairs to ask for a quill and parchment.

“Mmmm…” She grumbled, sitting up. 

When he came back, he sat on the bed and pressed the paper on the side table, scratching out a message. Rowan didn’t bother to see what it said; she was pretty sure she knew. 

He folded the parchment and dripped some wax on it. Rowan took it and pressed it to her armor, imprinting a dragon scale pattern into the wax. 

Bishop took it back and put it on the dresser, pushing it away as if disgusted by it.

He was.

He pushed it more.

“Bishop, no matter how much you shove that paper away, it’s still stationery.”

“You can think up puns on the spot but better escape plans are out of the question?”

“...Ow. But considering you were in an easier spot, you didn’t have an escape plan  _ or  _ puns.”

“...I’ll call this a tie.”

“You do that.”

…

The reply came on the fifth day.

“Morthal,” Bishop breathed. “They took three days to give us a reply-- and they want us to go to Morthal?”

“Mmmm…?” Rowan woke up, slowly rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she looked to the letter. “Who did you contact…?”

“You know who,” He said. “They want us to get to Morthal. Meeting us halfway.”

“Makes...sense, I guess.” She says, eyes drooping closed. “Are you ready to travel?”

“You aren’t,” 

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Yes, I can travel.” 

“Then let’s go. Morthal is barely a day’s ride. What time is it…?”

“Nearly dusk--”

“Don’t care.” She swung her legs over the side, pulling on her cloak. “Let’s just...get there. It isn’t too far. The horses are rested.”

“Yeah, considering it’s been five damn days..” Bishop stands, pausing to watch Rowan try and totter to her feet. She manages, but stumbles for half a moment before catching herself. Bishop’s heart sunk.

“Feels good to stand…” She yawns. “Where are the horses?”

“Best guess--Throat of the world.”

“Stable. Gotcha.” Rowan pulls on her armor and pins her hair back, swinging her cloak over her shoulder. For the first time in a few days she stands up straight and tall, inspecting her jawline in the looking glass. And despite her tired eyes, to Bishop, she still looks regal. Always has, always will.

_ That’s how she’s supposed to look. _ Bishop thought. 

“Coming, or would you rather gawk?”

“To tell you the truth…”

“I’m relying on you, Bishop.” She reaches out. Bishop never realized she was so close until her hand brushed along his cheek, igniting his skin as if he was being touched by coals. Her skin was hot--too hot. He nearly flinched but the odd light in her eyes held him in place.

“...Ladyship?”

“Yes?” 

“Are you...going to...do you think…?”

“I don’t know. But either way, I’m not going to.” Her confidence boosted his own. His stomach unknotted itself--but only a little bit. 

They paused, holding each other’s gaze gently, as if dropping their look would damn them both. 

The air released them as the tension faded, leaving them both staring at each other dumbly.

“Right.” Bishop sighed, opening the door for the two of them. 

They weren’t about to voice the promise they made in that moment.

…

“So he said...to come to Morthal? Really?”

“Yeah. Odd, right?”

“Well it is where Falion lives. He’s a specialist on curing vampirism, but he isn’t with the vigilants…”

“Maybe he works with them from time to time?”

“Maybe it’s the old altar. Though…”

“Wouldn’t that seem blasphemous?”

“Yeah. Though they may suck it up and use it.”

“Must make ‘em pretty mad.”

“I’m sure they’re not having a blast...phemous.”

“That was bad.”

“I’m slowly getting possessed by a Daedra, what do you want from me?”

“I’ll excuse it this time. Just this once.” He spurs his horse further down the stone path, hating how the dewey humidity in the air clings to him like the remnants of a frigid swim. Rowan follows suit, and her eyes drift above the trees, watching the first light trickle in. 

“No sun yet,” Rowan observes. “I don’t like it. It shouldn’t be getting light yet.”

“Ladyship...it’s pitch black out here. I can barely see.”

“...What?” 

“Yeah. Can you summon a candlelight?”

She does, if only so Bishop can see the look of confusion on her face.

“Wha--”

“You can see light?”

“Yes--”

“Ladyship, it’s just past one. That’s impossible.”

“I…” She pauses, chewing on her lip. “Alright.”

“They may be hardasses but they’ll help you,” Bishop says, finally. “They will.”

“I know they will, Bishop. Don’t worry.” She knew he was just trying to convince himself. And while she may not be completely sold, Bishop’s the one suffering most through this ordeal. The least she can do is keep him calm.  

She had already made up her mind. 

 

They reached the outskirts of the city by the actual first light. 

 

She stopped her horse. He did too, but didn’t know the reason. She climbed down. He followed, silently. 

 

Before he could ask why they stopped, she was pressed against him, hands intertwined with his. He was quiet and unsure, but the warmth of her lips made him forget their predicament for just a moment. For an instant, he was back on top of the spire in Markarth, with the chill of the night clashing with her warmth, and the sky smelling like damp stone and smoke. 

He wished it lasted longer, but she pulled away finally, a sigh trickling off her breath. A candlelight snakes out from behind her, illuminating the two of them. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Bishop said finally. 

“Bishop-- I can’t promise anything. I don’t know.”

“Why do you always do this? Lie to me, dammit.”

“Because if I did, and the worst happened, you would never stop thinking of what you could have done,” She said at last. “I’ll manage. I don’t know what that entails, but I’ll do it.”

“You better. Because I swear if you die to some second-rate subplot bastard, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Technically, he’s been here longer than you.”

“Yeah, but in the book of the Dragonborn, I definitely have more speaking points.” 

“True.” She finally smiled for the first time in days. “Very true.”

“He’s like...a subplot enemy at this point.”

“To be fair, so was Thorn,” She grew quiet for a moment. “And that’s the closest both have us have come to our breaking point. So I’ll be cautious--but I believe in the Vigilants.”

“That…” He sighed. He didn’t want to admit his breaking point happened when he watched her on the balcony get hauled away by Thorn.

“Where are we meeting them?” She decided to change the subject.

“Supposedly at the stone altar...thing on the outskirts. It’s in the marsh, I think.” 

“I’m sure we’ll find it.” She swings up into her saddle, waiting for him to as well. “I’ll lead.”

“Are you sure?”

“The adrenaline’s keeping me awake.” She admits. “Though I don’t mind. Feels good.”

“If you’re sure,” He pauses. “You are sure, right?”

“Yes, Bishop. Yes I am.” She pulls her horse ahead, angling herself towards the swamp. It smells like slightly stale air, and the fog is unpleasant as it seeps into her hair and clothes. Bishop isn’t bothered by it, but she shivers once it begins to cling to her. “Hopefully by day’s end we can quit this serious talk and just go back to messing around.”

“I’ll be buying the drinks once this nightmare ends…” He looks to her. He looks exhausted. “I’ll be sure to get a bottle of Colovian for when you come back. Wonder if they have it in this dead town…”

“Buy two.” She grins as they push ahead. The town passes on their right and they press on. Rowan ignores how the light from the lanterns clash with the morning’s dawn, and closes her eyes once it begins to sting. She doesn’t want to dwell on it. 

Eventually, they see some stone pillars begin to materialize between the twisted trees. 

“Let’s hope the airhead fanatics are here.”

“The correct term is ‘Vigilant’.”

“That’s what I said. Tome-thumping idiots.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“I’m always being mean. Just to different people at different times,” He rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope they tone down the rhetoric so they still have time to help you.”

Rowan cracks a grin. Bishop’s calmed down significantly, at least. Perhaps he is getting better.

Figures in dubious looking armor surround the stone pillars.

“They look like a cult,” Bishop comments.

“I mean...technically...they are a cult,” Rowan replies, summoning another candlelight.

“...Really?”

“...Technically…”

“Dragonborn!” Someone calls out. “Leave your friend behind and approach the circle!”

“Oh what kind of religious bullshit is that?” Bishop mutters. “I ain’t leaving her!”

“It wouldn’t be safe for you, nonbeliever!”

“Nonbeliever…” I smirk. “It’s alright Bishop. You know how they are.”

“Yeah, well they can suck it. I’m not leaving.”

“Head back to Morthal. It isn’t far--and you can pick up some supplies.” She reaches over, ruffling his hair. “Go do whatever it is you always do.”

“You mean follow you around and get into trouble?”

“...Skip that part. Don’t burn down Morthal without me, alright?”

“And of course I don’t have Karnwyr. Wonder where he is…”

“Dunno.” She swings off her horse, hitting the ground softly. Her boots dig into the earth with a splash, announcing her presence to the silent world. “Why is it so quiet? It’s dawn but there’s no birds…”

“To be fair, this is Morthal. Any smart birds are in Falkreath, and the rest are Chaurus food.”

“Lovely. Well...I’ll see you later, then. And hopefully daedra-free,” She says, walking forward. There’s a soft light coming from the torches in the circle, and Rowan hesitates unconsciously before forcing herself to step forward. 

“Where is Casavir?” She asks first thing. The stone pillars nearly create a room sectioned off from the world. It certainly feels like it. 

“Not here,” Someone replies. 

“He’s gone.” Someone else says. Casavir is? 

“Um…”

“So you have a bit of a daedra problem, Dragonborn?” 

“You could call it that.”

“Possession, or…?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“What happened?” A woman steps forward, Bretonic in origin. She doesn’t like the look of her. Carcette’s hair is in a short ponytail tight against her skull, and she has a formidable looking warhammer on her back. But that’s not her main concern. That would be the dour, blood-thirsty look from behind her eyes. 

“I…” Rowan backs up a bit, only to realize she’s in the middle of a circle. “I came a bit more than a year ago looking to get this daedra out of me, but he stuck around. And… now he’s a bit too powerful for me to handle.”

“That isn’t what the letter said,” Carcette holds up the letter, the dragon wax seal broken. “The letter said you submitted willingly.”

“I was in a bit of a tight spot--!” Rowan protests.

“But you gave in willingly.” 

“Willingly my ass-- it was either that or--” Rowan clenches her jaw down, feeling salty iron spill. “Are you going to help me or not!?”

“So you willingly contacted a daedra and made a contract for your soul?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification--”

“You called the daedra, one of you proposed a deal, and you agreed. You sold your soul, Dragonborn.”

“The hell are you getting at?” Rowan stiffened, bringing herself to her max height and stature. She wasn’t liking where this was going, and the adrenaline pumping in her temple was making her head buzz. 

“What I’m getting at, Dragonborn, is that you sold yourself to a daedra.” Carcette ends her sentence abruptly. Rowan’s eyes widen as she takes in her surroundings-- she’s surrounded, tired, and against the vigilants. She isn’t exactly going to win. But she can try.

“So I’m not going to get any help, am I?” 

“Even if we were to help you, we can’t purge a demon if you agreed to it.”

“So you lied to me,” Rowan looks around the circle. 

“Not exactly. We’re going to put a stop to him, Rowan.”

“By killing me,” She spat. “I could do that myself in a much more comfortable scenario, dammit!”

“We’re going to make sure it’s done properly. Relax and it’ll be over in a moment.” Carcette condemned. 

Rowan swore, summoning her swords as she heard silver daggers being drawn. But just like a dragon being swarmed by hot-blooded adventurers, she wasn’t able to deflect all of them.

Bishop sensed it first. He was just tying up the horses in the inn’s yard when every hair on his body stood on end. But he didn’t start to move until he heard the screams in the distance. 

He lashed out at nothing, letting out a low growl that surprised even himself.

He shouldn’t have let her go alone. 

And despite how quickly he raced to that ancient stone circle, he never made it in time. It had been mere minutes.

Rowan won, of course, but Bishop can see the fight that came from it was short lived and brutal. Blood stained the stone, seemingly seeping into the rock itself in some sort of maccabe ritual. 

And Rowan was gone. 

Only her armor remained, torn and fallen in a heap. Hell, it looks like she threw it off herself. He gingerly picked up the garmets, looking them over. 

Three pierce sites. One shoulder, one back, and one in the side. She’s bleeding out, then. He...can track her. Maybe. 

He whistled as hard as he could, until his lungs were empty and his chest felt bruised.

No friendly wolf to speak of.

He took a deep breath. He looked around. And he thought.

He got up, back on his horse, and he waited for a moment.

That was definitely a sign something was very, very wrong.

His horse was restless, but he wasn’t about to let it gallop. If he lost this trail...well...he wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

All those years as a hunter came rushing back to him. On the outside of the circle he could see some grass glint in the sun, still glossy from when they were painted a few minutes ago. And he followed it. His eyes were already sensitive to the splotches of red covering the green, and in this case, there was no shortage of it. He could tell when she stopped to heal; the amount would reduce significantly, but once she got moving it was obvious she couldn’t completely heal herself. 

It was mid-morning and he was still following. And suddenly, it stopped. Vanished. The blood trail ended despite giving no sign that it was going to do so. 

And Bishop was left in the middle of a field, stunned.

He wandered, waiting for it to begin again. But he never found it. Like Rowan had just taken her injured self and vanished into thin air. 

He walked more, straying further and further away from where the trail ended. So far that he accidentally stumbled out of the treeline and onto the path to Solitude.

Where a certain Paladin was returning from a quest.

“ **Casavir** !” Bishop bellowed. His voice was hoarse and vicious after his pent-up rage boiled over. His throat was dry from nervousness and he wasn’t exactly in a mood to be civil.

“Bishop…?” Casavir’s horse came to an abrupt stop as its owner yanked the reigns, startled. “What in the name of--”

“You lying traitor!” Bishop spat, drawing an arrow and firing it directly at Cas’s face. He barely drew his own steel in time, deflecting the arrow with only a hair’s breadth to spare. 

“Bishop--what are you talking about!?” 

“We trusted you!  _ She  _ trusted you!” He drew another arrow. 

“Bishop what in the hell are you talking about!? What’s happening!?”

He calmed down for a moment once he heard Casavir swear. He doesn’t exactly do that for no reason.

“Cas--”

“What happened to Rowan? What’s going on?”

“My--my letter?”

“What letter?”

“The letter I sent you-- I got the reply yesterday--”

“Bishop. I never got a letter. There was no letter.” He hopped down from his horse, eyes full of concern at the realization that Rowan wasn’t with him, and Bishop was clearly panicked beyond all reason.

“You--the letter--But I--”

“Bishop...take it easy.” Cas said gently. “Deep breath. Sit down for a minute.” One look at Bishop only gave Casavir more questions. He was battered and bruised, but apparently didn’t notice, or was too stressed to care. He looked as if he had been half-healed, probably by Rowan, but she was either too exhausted or was interrupted halfway.

“The vigilants...you never got a letter?”

“No. I never received a letter.” Cas paused, recalling the past few days. “I...set out for Solitude four days ago, and I’m just coming back now. Why?”  
“The ladyship--Rowan needed the vigilants...and...so...I didn’t know what to do, so I sent a letter to you, and the reply said to come to Morthal…!” 

“And she’s gone?”

“They betrayed her, I think...it looks like they struck first. I don’t know, Cas. But she’s gone and they were dead.”

“What? The vigilants?” Cas’s eyes widened.

“There were bodies...I don’t know if it was everyone, though. I don’t know, Cas. I don’t. But I was tracking her, and the trail ran cold…”

“Sit down, Bishop, you need to calm down...you’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking! I’m angry! Pissed! Because we can’t go three fucking weeks without a crisis! All I want is just a few months where nothing goes wrong, and I don’t have to chase her, and she doesn’t have to chase me! But GODS FORBID we ever get that!”

“Look, Bishop, I’ll help you. But I can’t if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“This is going to sound nuts, alright? But Rowan picked up some daedra a while back. And it was eating away from her soul for a while, and because she always thinks she can handle everything, she kept quiet about it this whole time, and two weeks ago it reached a breaking point--”

“What was she acting like? She was possessed and knew it, but what happened?” Casavir knew all too well the demon he was talking about. He had seen it, that day he healed Rowan’s legs, and again once she fought alongside him. She was strong, but no one can keep something like that hidden forever. But Casavir had said nothing in order to protect her. 

“She was doing nothing but sleep for the past few days. She only got up to eat; and when she does she got mood swings and doesn’t make sense. Like an altruistic child.”

“It’s seems so...out of character for her.” Casavir shifts his weight to his hip.

“She was wounded pretty badly--”

“As were you. She healed you for the most part, but I can still see a ring around your eye, Bishop,” He says. 

“We both were.” He finishes. “But she was…you know, with her…”

“If you don’t tell me everything, I won’t be able to help, Bishop.” Casavir sheathes his sword gingerly. 

Bishop chews on his lip for a moment in thought.

“We were caught by Thorn,” Bishop says. “Surely you can figure out what’s happened to us. To her.”

“Gods… she wasn’t--”

“She traded her soul for escape, Cas. Made a deal so she could get out. I can’t tell which choice would have been better. Or even worse, for that matter…”

“You’ve had quite the ordeal, haven’t you? Gods, Bishop, if only--”

“Don’t give me that, Cas. I don’t want to relive it or think about ‘what ifs’.” 

“Can I ask one more question about it?”

“Fine. One.”

“What of Thorn?” He asks. Bishop reaches into the depths of his bag and pull out his notched stick, showing Cas the huge, deep chip taken off the marked off space; it was jagged and angrily cut. “So that space really was for him…”

“I may have hated you, Cas, but not enough to ignore how often you saved my ass.” 

“Bishop--”

“Though considering the lies you fed Rowan, maybe I thought too highly of you and your newfound honor.”

“That… may be true.”

“Was it Halfi?”

“What?”

“Halfi’s idea, right?”

“...I suppose so. But I am just as responsible.”

“Figures. You’re never underhanded like that. Well...except that one time. You know, with the guards.”

“Even then, it wasn’t quite clever, was it?”

“No, no it wasn’t.” He paused. “Quite cliche, really.” 

“After reading quite literally dozens of books, I sorely agree. I was pretty cliche.” 

“So am I, really.” Bishop admits, tipping his head.

“We’re products of circumstance, Bishop.”

“Not her, though.”

“Yeah. Not her.” 

“So you’ll help me find her?” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m a man on the edge, Cas. I can find her… I think, but I don’t know what to do once I do--”

“Yeah. I’ll help you.” He mumbles something under his breath. “I owe her. And it’s my duty to help.”

“Even if your order was against it?”

“My sense of justice is telling me it needs to be done, so I’ll do it. Where did the trail go cold?”

“Just up the hill, in a field nearby.” Bishop paused. “Hold on…” He whistled again, as loud as he could. He wasn’t in the swamp anymore, and with some luck...

The wolf appeared. Shaggy and happy, he sauntered up to Bishop.

“I’m so glad you’re predictable and hate the heat, pup.” Bishop sighed, scratching behind Karnwyr’s ears. “Now then. Cas, I do have to warn you-- she killed a group of vigilants. I know she’s not in her right mind--”

“No need to warn me of the consequences, Bishop. I’m my own man.” He rolled his eyes slightly, pulling a small grin. “And after all, I do fight daedra quite often.”

“Alright, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He led Casavir back up to where the blood trail ended. 

“She’s quite wounded,” Cas observed. “And it looks like she’s head back into the swamp.”

“You’d think she’d head to Solitude,” Bishop paused. “Karnwyr?”

The wolf took one whiff on the trail and headed off towards the swamp.

“You said she was sleeping constantly, right?”

“Yeah--she was exhausted.”

“Then that’d be why. She may be possessed by a daedra, but she has a human body. It still needs to eat and sleep. And with a daedra draining it, it’ll need that more often.”

“What is it going to do to her body?”

“Nothing good. But Rowan’s strong. If we get to her quickly, it won’t be permanent damage. The daedra knows it needs to take care of her body at least marginally if he’s to keep it.”

“Why her, of all damn people?”

“Do I really need to tell you why?”

“As far as I’m concerned, they can keep the Dragonborn. I just want Rowan.”

“If she wasn’t the Dragonborn, you would have never met, Bishop.”

“I know. But a part of me just wants to take her somewhere the dragons and couriers could never find her.”

“Reasonable, but selfish.”

“I know.”

“The world needs her.”

“ _ I know. _ ”

“You can’t hide her. Only protect her.”

“I know, alright!? And I’m trying!” He clenches his jaw in frustration, heaving a sigh. “Doesn’t mean I can’t want to do it. I know I can’t keep her from whatever the hell those damn deities want her to do, but it doesn’t mean I can’t want to. And it doesn’t mean I can’t mess up their plans and whisk her away from time to time.”

“I’m sorry, Bishop.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I know it’s difficult.” 

“Yeah...well…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I really expected more opposition from you.”

“I may be a follower of Stendarr, but I know they don’t exactly account for the human-ness of being a mortal.” He shifts his armor, the magnet clasps snapping into place. “You two have a difficult life ahead of you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Bishop rolls his eyes, scratching his stubble. “So where do you think she’s hiding?”

“There’s any amount of shacks and hideouts out here. No telling.” 

“So Karnwyr is our best bet.”

“And considering she’s a bit faster than usual, we have a good amount of tracking ahead of us.”

“Well dammit.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while--Happy day after Halloween! Uploads are going to be slow but I swear they'll get here eventually.
> 
> Ouch, the edge.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING**** Suicide

**Rowan**

“Where are we?” I ask, trying to see. It’s too dark. I’m not sure where I am, but it isn’t exactly in the real world, that’s for sure.

“Why do you still speak?”

“Because I want to know where we are.”

“Conserve your energy by keeping quiet, Dragonborn.” I hear Pioth tighten his grip on me. I can still slightly feel and hear the outside world, though I can’t see it. I know my boots are sinking into marsh mud, and I can hear the shriek of cicadas. We’re near Morthal, that’s for sure. I’m cold. I’m also hungry, and unbelievably tired.

I feel my hand grip a smooth handle, and yank it suddenly; it swings open. It’s a door. I...think. Sure enough, I walk forward and hear my boots hit rotting oak planks.

And I feel something cold and smooth clamp around my wrist, and immediately after I’m given my sight back.

I blink a few times as my feeling returns. I’m sitting on the floor in a corner, with my wrist bound to the wall. It’s just a plain shack, with no features except for a spindly hearth in the center opposite the door.

“Eat and then sleep.” Pioth tosses an apple to me. I try and reach out to catch it, but it bounces uselessly off my hand and onto the floor. I pause as my hand closes seconds after my brain told it to, staring uselessly. I pick up the apple and take a bite, staring at Pioth the whole time. He stands at the opposite side of the shack, black robes much less tattered than the last time I saw him. His horns are longer and more twisted, and his face seems much more...tamriel looking?

“You’ve been taking my power for a while.” I say at last.

“Only a little bit at a time. You never even noticed--like a mosquito always in your soul.” He grins, stepping back. “I have things to attend to. Be a good girl and sleep.”

“Sure.” I say, settling back into my corner as he steps backwards and out of existence. I roll my eyes—what a drama queen.

I wait a few minutes. Nothing. I even finish the apple, throwing the core over to his side in anger. I wait longer. He’s gone. And I can’t sense anything.

“LAAS!” I whisper. Not invisible shadow beings watching me.

I sigh, and summon a dagger to my hands. It’s more crooked than I usually make them, and the purple is a deeper color that seems...colder.

Well.

This is awkward. I think we all agreed in the beginning this story wasn’t supposed to be this **edgy**.

Alright. Not the time for knife puns.

I never really thought I’d end like this. Though to be fair, I never really thought I’d ever get possessed by a power-hungry daedra, either. I didn’t really think any of this would happen. I expected to fight alone until I died on the battlefield. I expected to live my life in a shell; both physical and metaphorical.

I couldn’t have predicted Bishop, or what he’d do to me.

I had been completely fine with dying. I was relieved that one day, I’d no longer have all this responsibility. I could just fade out and that’d be the end of it. I'm not talking about having my life be a beautiful drama. I wanted my time to be simple. ANd it'll be fine. The dragon’s blood would be passed to someone else; preferably someone stronger than me. They’d finish the prophecy, and that’d be it. I can't finish it, so it's my duty to pass it on to someone else. Other dragonborns have done it. When they get old, ragged, sick, or captured, they'll just pass quietly and a new dragonborn will be born. 

Now it's my turn. And I've come to terms with it. It isn't exactly a big deal. I'm one person in a country of thousands. Sacrificing for the greater good and all that.

But here I am. With a shaking hand that can barely hold the dagger, I’m scared out of my wits and my breathing is as ragged as my clothes. I feel sick. I don’t want to.

The seconds drag on for years as I remember everything. Walking to Markarth, meeting Apolinus, and getting run out. Wandering for years. Meeting Bishop. Cael. Casavir. Open fields filled with butterflies, and dim caves barely lit by my candlelight.

My stomach twists into an ugly knot. My throat burns, and I twist the dagger away from me. I bite down on my tongue, feeling the salty iron spill behind my teeth.

My heart races and my visions swirls, turning the fire into a harsh aurora of red.

I remember Bishop and I on Markarth’s spire, our breath lingering in the cool air as we kissed. That sent a twang of guilt straight through my heart as I ran my fingers across the dagger’s edge.

He was always chasing me, wasn’t he? There was always something wrong that he had to protect me from. Someone was always trying to get the Dragonborn for themselves. He must be exhausted of this by now. I wonder how he is. Probably searching for me as we speak.

The guilt tears into my stomach worse than the knife ever could. I want to vomit. I should have told him, but of course I was too damn prideful to try and get help from the one person I trust.

Now look at me. Miles away from him, and about to stab myself. This is exactly what I wanted. All those months of carefully hiding Pioth. And here I am, about to just die like it's a fucked up rendition of Romeo and Juliet. Great. Always wanted to kill myself in mediocrity. Call the police-- the book of the Dragonborn just got a lot more edgy. Fantastic.

At least my sarcasm is intact. And if I do this, the rest of me will stay intact, too.

Well, I never was one to sit around and mope. I made my choices, and here I am. If Pioth doesn’t have a body, he’ll run out of power to stay in Tamriel and will fade back into Oblivion. It’s obvious which one is more favorable. I don't deserve to be scared.

I twist the dagger back, in my hand, angling it towards the base of my throat. I carefully drag it until I can slightly feel my pulse in the handle of the blade…

Hm. What’s the easiest way to do this?

I keep the blade steady with my left, drawing my right hand back in order to hit the back of the hilt. Should I do a count down? Or just go for it?

Screw it. I hate counting.

My hand hits the back of the blade square, and heat spills into my throat as I feel it seep and stain my clothes.

My vision blurs and I stumble for a second, trying to pull the blade back, until I realize it’s stuck in place.

 

One heartbeat. It’s so violent I feel it in the blade.

 

Another. Weaker this time.

 

A third. Too faint to feel.

 

I can no longer see or hear.

 

 

 

 

 

But then I start to choke. An awkward sort of cough that brings me so much pain it smacks me back to the real world.

...

Pioth. The bastard stands over me, two fingers keeping the blade in place. A quarter inch from killing me. It hasn’t sunk in far enough. I haven’t severed it yet.

“Well, my dear, I certainly didn’t imagine you’d actually do it. Perhaps you’re not as much of a scared little girl as I thought.” He chuckles an evil, hollow laugh. I try and swallow only to find it increases the pain tenfold; my eyes go out of focus for a moment as I try to bring myself back to reality. "Though you can't die like a lovestruck teen, my dear. It'd be an unfitting end to the Dragonborn."

“I suppose I’ll have to keep a better eye on you. Or perhaps…” He bends down, pulling the dagger back and throwing it to the side. It disappears after it’s disconnected from me, exploding into fractals. He takes my hands in his, the uncomfortable hotness of his skin nearly scalding the skin on my fingers. “This will do.” He looks into my eyes as I try to avoid his, letting my head roll to the side.

Two circles appear on both of my palms, glowing a crimson black that matches the color of his skin. It’s like lava was embedded in my skin; though it feels cold, like ice. Weird symbols and stars appear too, over time, looping in and out of each other in patterns I don’t understand.

“Good luck using magic with those, my dear. I’ll be back in the morning.” He stands, pausing. “Oh, right. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out while I’m gone.”

He snaps his fingers, and I feel the gash on my throat stitch together.

He takes another look at me, snorts for a second, and disappears again.

Well...fuck.

"You fucking suck." is all I manage to say. It only makes me feel slightly better.

I test my magic, trying to summon a candlelight. The circles glow for a moment, and I feel my link to the candlelight go through. But nothing emerges. It’s just a new way for Pioth to eat my magic.

Bishop, I hope you’re prepared...

…

“Bishop, you know you’ll need to be prepared. We don’t know how far gone she is.”

“I know. But I’m sure we can get her back.”

“I...d--I hope so.”

“What were you going to say!?”

“I simply stuttered, Ranger.”

“Don’t lie to me, Cas. I need to know.”

Casavir paused, pulling the last of his armor off. He ran his thumb over the embedded lodestone. He loved how it sparkled when mixed with the resin. It was such an ugly stone before.

“Why do you love her, Bishop?”

“You really want to know?”

“I want the no bullshit answer, Bishop.” Casavir paused. “And yes, I know I swore.”

“What--”

“Just tell me.”

“Fine.” He paused, twiddling his thumbs. “It’s probably going to sound stupid out loud…”

“Bishop.”

“Fine, geez. Dammit.” He looks up at the stars, seeing the flecks of ember from the fire die in the crisp night, almost mirroring the constellations. “I don’t know what happened to me. I used to think that having a woman would slow my life down and turn into her fantasy, you know. Buy her dresses. Take her nice places. Never talk, only listen. Basically end up her slave so she can live out some emotional fantasy--and Rowan just doesn’t make me do that. I’m a free man. She’s my partner. We look out for each other.”

“I didn’t expect this level of maturity from you, Ranger.”

“Shut up.”

“Only if you talk more.”

“You know, I used to hate taverns. Mead was fine; but the people disgusted me. Now I look forward to them. I like nothing in the world more than Rowan plopping down on the bench next to me, her shoulder touching mine, with two tankards in her hands. She drinks them both herself, of course, but she always ends up buying a third for me, joking that she’ll throw it in the fire if I don’t start paying for my own. Usually the price I pay for it is some shitty pun, but I’m never listening. Too busy listening to her voice mixing with the warm crackling of the fire. It’s a kind of peace I never got before I met her.”

“That…”

“I’m not a bard, Cas. Don’t make fun of my metaphors.”

“No...actually. That was good.”

“I’m rational, Cas. I like yes or no questions; I like simple things that work. It’s not some romantic trip where I fell for her instantly--God knows I hate those types--but the real answer is I don’t know. I just do. So _please_ tell me whether or not I should reasonably expect to see her in her right mind again.”

Casavir paused, leaning back.

“You know, you’re not as bad as you used to be. I’ll give you that.”

“I try,” He pauses. “And sorry for nearly killing you in the fortress.”

“To be fair, I won that fight,” Casavir leans back. “The satisfaction of that alone paid in full.”

“I only had a knife!”

“You only had a knife before Rowan made that sword of yours.”

“Casavir,” Bishop suddenly dropped the demeanor, glaring at Cas. “Stop stalling. Tell me what’s going to happen.”

“She made a deal with a daedra. Those are final. She contracted it, it meshed with her, controlled her power, constricted her soul, and Thorn made her give it her body, too. It has everything. Her mind’s still there--but she’s not.”

“So we can’t help her.” Bishop looked like he had been slapped. His brows knitted together and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He squeezed his thumb, then stopped once he realized how tight it made his rings.

“I never said that,” Casavir sighed. “Though we have one shot, and one shot only. If she dies, the daedra goes with her. So if it ever sees that she’s in mortal danger...it’ll bail at the last second. Then we can exorcise her.”

“And how the hell are we going to do that?”

“I’m glad you asked…”

...

**Rowan**

“I’m hungry. And tired.” I complain as I feel my body rise without me telling it to. “People eat three or four meals a day, you know.”

“Well aware,” Pioth sneers. “You’re so needy.”

“Right you are,” I say smugly.

“Quiet. I’ll find something soon.”

“I just decided I’m thirsty too.”

I feel a waterskin at my lips. Nice.

“Now will you quit speaking?”

“Nope. I’m going to be a backseat driver and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

“I can silence you.”

“But you aren’t going to. Because it drains my power—and you need me.”

“Well aren’t you so smart,” He revels. He places my bag on my back and opens the door to the shack, summoning a bow to his hands.

“The hell are you going to do with that?”

“Get breakfast.”

“Well alright…” Right as we walk out, a rabbit scampers across our vision in the underbrush of the sparse forest.

Pioth creates a bow with my magic, the make looking much different than one created by me. The ends are curled and with a much steeper curve, and it’s ice cold to the touch.

“Miss.”

“Quiet.”

“It’s a fucking rabbit.”

“Let me focus!”

“Another miss.” The arrow whizzes into a tree, feet away from the unconcerned hare.

“You humans use such crude tools…” Pioth sneers.

“Then why use them?” I pause. “Oh… you can’t use your destruction magic in my body…”

“Let me focus.”

“I’m really glad I never studied that stuff. This is fun. You know, any idiot can use a bow. Some kids even start learning when they’re seven.”

He misses again. Though it was semi-close this time.

“Just aim left.” I laugh.

“Rowan!” He snaps. I feel my soul sandwiched a bit between two harsh walls of my consciousness.

“Just let me do it. It’s not like I can run.”

“As if I’d fall for that.”

“Can you let me just control the hands?”

“…”

“I know you can. You’re an eternal sorcerer, just let me shoot the thing.”

“Fine.”

In another moment, I’m holding a bow, gripped tightly in the wrong hand.

“Other hand,” I sigh, switching it to my left and nocking an arrow. “Can you roll my eyes? I can’t do it right now.”

“No. Shoot.” He says. I do. The poor bunny spirals off into the grass with an arrow in its side.

“There.” I sigh, feeling my control fade. “Geez.”

“Now then…” His voice becomes cold again. “Sleep, Dragonborn…”


	58. ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale...Finally! And while this is the end the story, it doesn't have to be the end of the adventure. I may be writing some short fluff one-shots... whatever I feel like from time to time. And if anyone has suggestions for aus, scenarios, fluff pieces, pairings (even if it isn't Rowan-Bishop) let me know! I love a challenge, and I love the characters I created. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading this far! Your support is what made me want to write.

“Slow down, asshole, my foot hurts.”

“Quiet!”

“No seriously--”

The trip was pretty much in slow motion for me. It was a blur for a moment, and suddenly my face was full of dirt and greenery and moss was in my nose and on my eyelids.

 

I pretty much ate shit down a hill. You can imagine how that would be.

 

“Thanks, cockhole.”

“What happened?” He asked, standing.

“My ankle is messed up from before. Slow down.”

“Fine…” He hisses. “Your body is weaker than I thought.”

“Pioth...I swear… Do you even know how the human body works?”

I feel my body slap itself.

“Don’t get smart with me, Pioth. I need to sleep and eat.”

“What you need is to get over this ridge…” He brushes all the dirt from my face and trudges up a steep incline.

“Solitude…” I breathe, taking in the city. Even as I’m battered and starving, the city spires reaching up and scraping the icy blue sky speckled with white flecks of fleece is regal. The muted tones of the brick and shattering red flags burn into my retinas. I’ve seen nothing but brown and green for forever. Quite literally, it’s a sight for sore eyes. 

“Pioth, I’m disgusting.”

“Yes you are.”

“No--let me at least wash my face and hair off… We’re stopped already.”

“Dragonborn--”

“Seriously. Please. For the love of God I’m going to go crazy.”

“Well…”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, asshole. You have to wait until dark anyway.”

“Three minutes.” Pioth says, retracting into somewhere I can’t sense him.

“Give me some privacy, too. Unless you really want to see what days of travelling without a bath does to the skin under a binding cloth.”

He groans in disgust, disappearing. “Just do us both a favor and don’t try to off yourself while my back is turned.”

“I’m not a one trick pony, Pioth.” I say, quickly pulling out my washcloth. I down most of my water, splashing some on my washcloth and dragging it across my face. I comb my hair and pin it back, hoping it isn’t as greasy as I think it looks. And while I’m rustling around in my bag… I peel the labels off two similar-looking bottles, swapping the labels and pressing on the paper to reapply the resin adhesive. I smash a few vials while I’m at it. After I’m finished, I idly go back to combing my hair. 

“Time’s up,”

“That wasn’t three--” I’m pulled away from my internal microphone.

“Now then…” Pioth looks to the gate, with two guards stationed at both sides. “We get in, and wait for nightfall.”

I can’t exactly protest.

“Oh, and I need you to cooperate to put these on…” He takes out a stormcloak uniform. I feel my face smirk as I slouch internally, feeling the blue cloak being pulled over my armor. 

…

“I’m telling you, it’s urgent!” Casavir’s voice spikes from its usual calm tone into something more erratic. “Stand aside!”

“The queen will not be entertaining today. She isn’t well.” The guard at the entrance to the Blue Palace squeaks. Casavir was a very, very tall man.

“I need to get into the palace. It’s a matter of national importance. My name is Casavir-- I’m with the Vigilants!”

“I’m sorry, but--” He doesn’t get a chance to speak any longer. Bishop was already dragging him into the bushes next to the fence.

“Okay, before you get mad, he’s just going to take a nap. And yes, I genuinely thought this would be better.” Bishop braces for the backlash.

“Good job.” Is all Casavir mutters. 

“Woah. Was that praise?”

“Don’t make me retract it, Ranger.”

“Alright… so how are we going to convince the queen to let us guard her tonight and forever until Rowan shows up?”

“For starters, not phrasing it like that should help our case.” Cas sighs. “Let me do the talking--”

“I’m the people person.” Bishop argues.

“You are not the people person. At all.” 

“Am too.”

“Name one good interaction you ever had with someone you knew the name of,”

“...Rowan?”

“Gods, you’re pathetic. What would you have done without her?”

“Oh you’re one to talk, Mr. Religious fanatic. Your own brain would have imploded if you didn’t find the Paladins.”

“Shut up and let’s go make our case. We’re losing light.” Casavir looks up. The sun is still up, but it’s dipped behind the walls and shoved the city into darkness. “We’ve lost light,” He corrects, walking into the main room.

Elisif isn’t on her throne; in fact, the receiving hall is empty save for her steward and housecarl. 

“Where is the queen?” Casavir asks, not afraid to raise his voice anymore. That, or he’s no longer being careful.

“Who are you? Who the hell let you in?” Her housecarl demanded. He drew his sword, and Bishop could see the veins in his arms pop as he gripped the hilt.

“Oh...boy…” Bishop paused, stepping back and getting ready to get his bow.

“My name is Casavir. I’m a vigilant and a friend of the Dragonborn. The queen is in danger, but it isn’t from us I can assure you.” He shows the Vigilant crest on his armor, exhaling bated breath once the housecarl lets his sword fall. It’s not sheathed--but it’s close. 

“She’s not in any danger so long as I’m breathing. You can leave.”

“I’ll hear out a Paladin,” A woman walks into the room, a shining crown sitting on her hair proudly. It was gold, with small gems set into the metal to make a design. Emerald dragonflies skittered on a sapphire pond, and a ruby falcon eyed a steely-eyed topaz rabbit. It was beautiful. And so was she.

Her soft nose and tilted eyes were regal, and her cheekbones stood proudly. She was slender but perfectly so, with the pale green dress accenting her body. 

They were both stunned as she walked over and sat in the throne, propping her head up on a fist and looking down on them; not in a condescending way, but...curiously. 

Casavir recovered first, kneeling in an instant and dragging Bishop down with him.

“Rise and tell me why I have the honor of a Paladin of High Rock in my court,” She speaks. Casavir is at a loss for words.

“I’m not the Paladin, but you’re in grave danger,” Bishop says.

“ _ Tack a ‘your highness’ on the end of that or I’ll pop out your eyes as you sleep, _ ” Casavir mutters. 

“Your...highness,” Bishop fumbles. “ _ God I hate nobility _ .”

“Rise, both of you,” She commands. And weirdly enough, Bishop’s legs obey without him.

“Are you familiar with the Dragonborn, my Queen?” Casavir asks. 

“I am, though I have not met her in person in quite some time,” She responds. “What about her?”

“She…” Bishop starts.

“She’s ill. In the head, as of right now.” Casavir finishes. “The dragonborn encounters many things from the realm of Oblivion, and one decided to stick with her.”

“And the daedra is after my head?”

“It originally was just a servant daedra. But it fed off of her and now it wants more power, and the resources it needs to acquire more would require either your throne or so much chaos where your position no longer matters.”

“How can I be sure you actually know Rowan?” she interjects. Casavir is flabbergasted, but only for a moment. “As far as I know, she prefers to travel alone. How do I know you’re not spies or murderers using some crazy excuse to win my trust?”

“I...well...um…” Casavir fumbles. “...letters...and...um…”

“My armor has her signature all over it. My necklace has a note from her on the back. My sword has her dragon crest. Search me.” Bishop pauses, studying Elisif. “You should know she was a fantastic silversmith. She made your crown, after all.”

Elisif smiles warmly, amused. Her eyes light up, the stained glass windows glittering in her soft blue eyes.

“And how did you know that?”

“I didn’t. But considering it has the same celtic knotting and the inlay is the same as my necklace and ring, I can figure. Also, no Nord smith has enough patience or small enough fingers to do a design that intricate.” 

Bishop could hear Casavir audibly sigh in relief.

Elisif looked them both over, head to toe. 

“...Alright, I’ll believe you. And you wish to protect me, Sir Paladin?”

“...Yes.” Casavir fumbles out. “We both will.”

“And what of the Dragonborn?”

“Your life comes first,” said Casavir.

“She isn’t fragile, and she’d kill us if she knew we almost let her hurt you,” Bishop says, rolling his shoulders. “Though that isn’t going to stop me from trying to help her.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Elisif looked to her housecarl. “Well?”

“I don’t need help. Even if it’s a dragonborn,” He assures her, taking his position next to the throne’s arm. 

“Yeah...don’t know if you know this, but she eats dragons,” Bishop says. Casavir nearly punched him. “I’ve never beat her in a fight and I’ve watched her in scores of battles. You’re going to need help.”

“And while we value your life...we also want Rowan back. And I have a plan.”

“And what does that plan entail, Paladin?” Elisif asked. 

“Do you mind if I rearrange the tower in the East Wing?”

She mused a smirk.

“Not at all. What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a rune that can separate her from the daedra for a time. But it’ll take all my magic and most of my energy-- but if she’s enclosed in the tower, a place where she can easily be separated from you so Bishop can pacify her, we can bring her down and expel the daedra.”

“Wait a second… I’m fighting her alone!?” Bishop pauses.

“You can do it,” Casavir says, not breaking eye contact with Elisif.

“Paladin, are you suggesting that I should be used as bait?”

“Well…” His voice dropped, like a kicked puppy yelping.

She waited a moment--and then she laughed. It sounded like a chime gently being rustled, but it was a laugh however slight. 

“I’ll allow it.”

“My queen--” Her housecarl begins.

“Quiet... I said I’ll allow it.”

“Really?” He pauses. “I mean...thank you.”

“I do realize that the burden of Dragonborn isn’t easy, and she certainly doesn’t want it. Though I think anyone who would willingly take on that amount of responsibility has no idea what the position entails. She’s imperative to my people’s safety...and I guess I owe her one for that.”

…

Rowan crouched along the ramparts of the courtyard, looking down at the guards training below. In the light of the torch arrows struck the straw targets, shaking the dust from within the fiber each time. 

_ “So you’re going to kill a few guards and cause a ruckus. Big whoop.” _

“No, no I’m not. Only two deaths tonight. Well...two that matter.”

_ “What?” _

“Quiet, he’s coming,” Pioth moves us right over the entrance to Castle Dour.

_ “He’s probably out, idiot.” _ I chime in.

“No… no he isn’t.” Pioth replies way too calmly for my liking. “What do you think I’ve been doing every time I disappear? Certainly not squandering my time. That’s a human thing to do.”

The doors open, the hinges squealing as three people file out. 

Tullius was the last in line.

_ “Pioth--”  _

He doesn’t care. Our feet leave the stone and my swords angle downward as we fall. Unknown to Pioth, I adjust the angle just ever so slightly… hopefully it will be enough. I feel my stomach do somersaults in my chest and my breath gets sucked from me in a wind of color. My first sword gets caught up on his spaulders as we drop onto him, but the second clips his chest and sends him to the ground. 

I don’t see much--Pioth doesn’t let me. But I see glittering crimson in the moonlight as we lift our blade, and I can see how everyone around us freezes as if time has stopped. Pioth enjoys how they gasp, and is sure to stand still long enough for them to fully see the Stormcloak armor I’m wearing.

Then we’re off again. Darting out of the courtyard and up the castle walls to the ramparts.

Pioth… he’s using the same technique I used in Markarth to get up the mountain. Wedging my blades into every crack and crevice in the exposed rock to work our way up. 

“You really need to work out more, Dragonborn. Your upper body strength has diminished.”

_ “Shut up.”  _ I say, watching us ascend. 

He makes it up, and he never gives me a chance to linger on the castle wall. We’re sprinting down to the Blue Palace.

_ “You’re going after the queen--” _

He doesn’t reply. 

…

“Ok… so you’re here, casually reading, as you do…” Bishop’s leaning against the wall, well out of sight of the wall. “And…”

“And she sees her, seemingly unprotected, but in reality…” Casavir finishes the last rune on the wall. “We’ll trap her.”

“Now...we’re inside the circle of runes, technically. Are we safe?” Elisif asks from the plush armchair she sits in.

“Certainly. The runes are only for its strength. The circle in the middle and my mantra are the focal piece. 

Casavir is referring to a ring of rope on the ground, just blending in with the carpet enough to pass a cursory glance. It sits dead in the middle. 

“I must say Paladin, this is well thought out. Using the tower’s shape as a impromptu ring of runes is very smart.”

“Thank you, milady. Your words warm my heart.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down. I’m the one who has to get her in that damn circle. Have you seen her fight? It’s going to be like wrestling a bear. All you do is mutter some stuff.”

“It requires a lot of eternal focus. I can’t possibly do it while fighting.”

“It would be wise to remember that should you fail, I’ll cut her down. And you two while I’m at it.” Elisif’s housecarl snarls from the shadows. 

“Now, Bolgeir. That is a last resort.” Elisif soothes. He still seems uneasy. 

“You said this was a two-part thing. What’s the second part?” Bishop asks, hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Well a third of the runes are to immobilize whatever’s in the circle. Another third to separate her and the daedra. And the last third to kill it--though my sword can also be used in that case. If we get through the first two steps cleanly, we’ve done it.”

“Way to jinx us.” Bishop looks to the nearly solid ring of runs on the wall.

“Quit talking. We need to hear her coming.”

…

“Interesting.” Pioth looks to the tower’s window. “Convenient.”

_ “What? Tullius wasn’t enough?” _ I huff, flopping over metaphorically in the back of my own mind. 

“Not really. Just need to secure my place, that’s all.”

_ “We’re taking the throne? Lame.” _

We’re already to the window ledge by then, perching perfectly on the stone windowsill. Pioth looks inside for one moment and lingers, kicking open the window but never entering. Elisif only looks surprised, setting her open book down at the table next to her.

“Dragonborn!?” She asks. Her voice is insincere. Pioth is sure then.

“Good try.” I hear myself say, and he summons a bow. But instead of firing at Elisif...he fires behind the curtains. It clangs noisily off of metal armor, and Casavir rips the curtain back in frustration.  

_ “The hell?” _ I ask.

We aim again, and fire directly at his left eye socket. He catches it, with just enough breathing room to only give me a  _ slight  _ heart attack. A hand clamps around our arm and we’re dragged inside and thrown onto the floor, but not in the center. We ripped ourselves from his grip too soon.

“Shite,” Is all Bishop says as he draws his sword. 

“I know there’s a circle,” Pioth hisses at them. “Morons.”

“We weren’t going to politely ask you to get in it…” Bishop mutters through clenched teeth, tying up our swords. Pioth dodges instinctively--using my instincts-- the kick that follows. And in response, our own leg sweeps low, knocking Bishop off his feet and flat on his ass.

_ “The idiot--! I told him he kicks too high!” _ I groan internally. 

Pioth stops, surveying Bishop.

“She just called you an idiot, by the way.” My own voice says. 

We sweep our sword along the rug, being sure to sweep as low as we could. Then we rush Casavir; locking his sword in the crook of our own. 

“Do me a favor, Paladin, and just die,” We say with a malice ridden tone. 

_ “Why are you after Casavir!?” _

“Apologies, but I’m going to have to reject the offer,” Casavir says, his jaw clenched. He slams into us--armor and all--and knocks us back. It’s nearly in slow motion as we near the circle as we trip backwards. But all at once our sword stabs into the middle of the ring, and we force our weight into it, keeping us a foot from the floor.

“I’m...not...going to be forced into a rune circle that easy!” We mutter. 

_ “That’s killing my tricep…” _ I groan. 

“I know--I can feel it too, you moron!” We say as we regain our footing, slightly massaging our poor arm in the few seconds we’re allowed.

Bishop’s knife cuts out our time. Literally.

We respond with a quick fist to the head.

“Why the hell are you so fast!?” He says, taking a step back. “Cas!”

“Because now we don’t have to carry your sorry ass through every fight…” Pioth hisses, deflecting Casavir’s greatsword into the wall.

We grab Bishop’s swinging arm and roll ourselves around him, shoving him into Casavir so we’re no longer fighting both directions.

Pioth is still going after Casavir with everything he has. Bishop’s an afterthought, and as a result we get a few quick slices of his dagger on our skin. A particularly deep one finds its way to our leg, but we match it by slicing his shoulder to ribbons. We match Casavir hit for hit, slowly matching our strength with his. We attack his elbow only for him to go after our exposed legs, and after we block him we duck under the following punch. It’s going nowhere. 

And when we do give Bishop our full attention, we’re sure to switch from power to speed. We’re faster than he is-- even with a sword--our summoned sabres are nearly weightless. 

“Give up, demon. You’re not leaving here with anyone’s life!” Cas locks our blades again. He’s bleeding from his forearm, and slightly on his temple… not much to threaten his life.

“On the contrary…There’s two ways--” We twist our head to look for the queen--a hostage-- who was halfway out the door. It was a huge mistake.

The sword of Elisif’s housecarl rips down our back, matching the one I received that night in Markarth. It was like Satan himself was tickling my back.

And, a bit like how jello being smacked with a ping-pong paddle bends and quakes, we slammed into the floor, breath crashing into us in waves. 

We try to get up, but it turns into a desperate dodge to keep our head firmly planted on our shoulders. The housecarl was finished with our games-- and unlike Casavir and Bishop, he wasn’t tired. In fact, by the smile on his face, he quite missed combat. 

Our eyes go slightly out of focus as we roll to our feet, stumbling backwards towards the window. 

Bishop moves as if he’s going to force us away from the window, but Pioth clearly wasn’t planning on letting him succeed. We dissolve our swords and drop a fireball in the room, consuming the tower in a momentary blast of flame. 

Meanwhile, we drop out of the tower, hooking ourselves on the sill and landing on all fours. It still takes my vision from me as we stumble forward, unable to nurse the open wound on our back. We’re bleeding out.

“ _ You know, we’re bleeding. A lot. _ ”

“I had no idea.”

“ _ Holy shit was that sarcasm? _ ”

“Shut up and help me close these…” He places our hands over the wounds.

“ _ I’m not helping~” I crow from the sidelines. “You’re alone on this. But you don’t know how to heal, do you? You can only manipulate minds-- _ ”

“You’re an annoying brat, I hope you know that.” He brings a rope from our bag, tying it to the rampart and sliding down the wall to the outside. “I’ll just wait a year… maybe ten. Then we’ll go again. Plan more… And your body’ll be more up to this...more used to me…” He rummages in my bag as we hobble away. “And if you won’t help me heal, I’ll just drink these potions of yours…”

He grabs the one with the red label, pinging the cork off the top and downing the small vial.

“You’re losing your touch, Rowan. That one didn’t taste as good as your other ones. Barely tasted of anything.”

“ _ I’m just going to have to practice more, I suppose. Now where are we off to? _ ” I try and stall. I wonder if they’re coming after me? If they think it’s worth their while?

I think they will. Bishop always finds me, somehow. Let’s just hope it’s in time. 

“Into hiding, apparently. Now keep quiet… We have a ways to go.” He makes his way to the docks, past the snoring guard propped up against one of the pilings, and he jumps into a small rowboat on the dock. He cuts the rope and shoves off, paddling every once in a while on the calm river to keep us heading across.

We begin to totter on our feet, and our heart’s labored.

“Wait a second…” He sputters as we nearly tip into the icy-cold water. “This...isn’t normal--even with our wounds…why aren’t they closing? The potion--”

“What do you mean?”

“Why am I tired? What’s wrong with your heart? Why is our vision so…”

“Blood Loss?” I suggest.

“That wasn’t a healing potion.”

“No it was not.”

“You poisoned us.” He gets out of the rowboat on the other side, walking through the swamp. “I’ll just use more of your potions--you know that, right?”

“I smashed those.”

“So let me get this straight--In a time most critical to the both of us, you poison us.”

“Correct.” I throw some jazz hands in the proverbial air. 

“You know, Rowan, perhaps it’s best if our partnership ended here.” He pauses. “I have all the time in the world. But due to your stupid actions, you don’t. Not anymore.”

“What?”

“I’m done.” He says, and I feel my senses return. My knees buckle and I’m suddenly freezing, and my heart is like a clogged engine ready to burst. The daedra in front of me at least has the decency to prop me up against a spindly tree. His skin seems less red than when I last saw him, and his cloak is tattered and frayed; nearly dull.

“What are you doing?” I ask, no longer finding the strength to move. 

He stands in front of me, arms crossed and looking down. 

“I mean I’m going to sit here and watch you die. And when you do take your last breath, I’ll follow your signature and go find the next dragonborn. One that isn’t such a pain to deal with. After all, it isn’t my body dying from poison, now is it? You can’t trick me, Rowan. I won’t die with you.”

“Never realized you...were such a quitter…” I breathe, feeling my lungs seize. Why do I mix poisons so well!? “At least I’ll die without you in my brain.”

“Enjoy these last moments while you still have autonomy. Without me, Rowan, you’re powerless.”

“You kept telling me I was powerless-- I’m sure you didn’t think everything would fall apart because of little ol’ me, did you?”

“No...I just enjoy a well-executed plan. And you, my dear Rowan, love to just ruin everything I try to achieve, even if it doesn’t affect you. Most people would’ve given up years ago.”

“I’ll...take...that...as...a...compliment…” My breath comes in short this time, and my eyes unfocus. 

“Oh, here we go--my favorite part. I’ll see you in Oblivion, my dear. Say hello to Azura for me, will you?”

“One last...thing…” I trail off.

“Yes, dear Rowan?”

“I win again.” I force myself to say it all in one breath.

Casavir’s sword goes right through Pioth. Black mist erupts from the wound, forming hands and trying to stuff Pioth in an invisible realm I’m all too familiar with.

He screamed something similar to  _ Foolish Humans, I won’t die--  _ before promptly being sucked back into Oblivion. It took a few seconds; and he did put up a good fight, I will admit--but the Gods gave humans several advantages over the daedra--and silver--especially that much of it-- is a huge advantage. 

“She’s poisoned--” Casavir says, throwing down his bag and rummaging through it. He pulls out a bottle and presses it to my lips, letting me drink.

“Rowan.” Bishop kneels down beside me. “Can you hear us…?”

“Yeah...I can,” I say, cracking a smile. “You found me.”

“Don’t doubt your Ranger, Ladyship.”

“Hey, Bishop?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m an idiot.” I say.

“Yeah. You are.” Bishop replies. My eyes are closed already.

“She’s falling asleep--” I hear Casavir say. I don’t remember anything after that.

…

“Nggh…” I groggily wake up to light streaming through the bits of colored glass at the Winking Skeever. I take a deep breath, smelling pine and dry leaves--Bishop. I exhale, snuggling deeper under the comforter, closing my eyes again. 

“Awake…?” Bishop asks quietly.

“Yes…” I look at him, with one eye still closed. “Unless I’m dreaming. Is it really you?”

“Think so…” He chuckles, kissing the top of my head. I laugh, for the first time in forever, and wrap my arms around him tighter, squeezing him.

“I don’t believe it… I’m here… I’m…”

“You’re safe,” Bishop finishes. “And you’re with me. Where you belong, I might add.”

“Yeah,” I wiggle myself up, taking his lips with mine. It was soft, unsure, and curious--we intertwined in a familiar way we hadn’t experienced in forever. I started off slow… I couldn’t believe I was kissing him again. But once we both realized this was real--we were real-- we quickened, until we were nothing but a mess of laughing and kissing. 

It lasted for a while. I don’t remember how long-- to me, time had stopped.

“Gods...our lives…”

“Yeah… though it’s over…” He pauses. “Though this isn’t the last chapter in the Book of the Dragonborn, is it?”

“No, no it isn’t…” I roll over. “In fact, it’s probably still in the first third, isn’t it?”

“And I still have more mentions than anyone else…” Bishop leans back, propping himself up on the various pillows around us. “I’m glad to hold that record…” 

“Yes, you do…”

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“It’s Cas.” Bishop says. “Can tell by the heavy footsteps.”

“Come in!”

He opens the door, gingerly, and finally swings it open fully. He’s no longer in armor; instead, he’s in a simple tunic. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. He seems so much...younger. 

“You’re awake…” He breathes.

“Yeah. Though it feels like I’m still dreaming… Gods! I hope Pioth is burning somewhere…”

“Maybe,” Casavir shrugs. “How do you feel?”

“I can feel that you healed me, that’s for sure,” I pause. “I feel great.”

“That’s good. You were in rough shape…”

“That seems to be a theme for her…” Bishop adds in. “Seems we can’t go a month without one of us nearly dying.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “We’re pretty crap at dying, though, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Casavir laughs.

They both fall silent.

That’s suspicious as hell.

“...How much do you remember?” Cas asks.

“All of it,” I reply.

“Ah…” 

“I’m probably going to prison, aren’t I?” I sigh. “Elisif… and General Tullius! Is he--”

“We don’t know. They found him after we found you. Hopefully no one saw us come back here…”

“We can run. Not like we aren’t used to it.” Bishop suggests. “Give me twenty, we can be out of here and halfway to High Rock--”

“No, that’s a bad idea. I have unfinished business in Skyrim… and running isn’t going to do me any good. I’ll offer myself up--and maybe Elisif will have mercy.”

“I just got you back--you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go to prison!”

“Bishop, I can’t be watching my back every second again… let me face the music and we’ll be done with it.”

“What if...what if you’re locked up forever!? What the hell am I supposed to do!?”

“I...don’t know,” I pause. “But Bishop, it’s the right thing to do.”

“To hell with the ‘right thing’-- let’s get out of here!”

“I agree with Rowan, Bishop.” Casavir says quietly. 

“Cas, why do you always have to be against what makes me happy!?”

“Because it’s usually the right thing to do, Bishop.”

“Bishop,” I plead, standing. I buckle my dragon armor onto me, slowly combing my hair and braiding it, finishing it with a ribbon. I lace on my boots. And at the end of my ritual, I twist on Bishop’s ring, keeping it on the ring finger of my right hand. “It’s a minor setback in my book. Barely worth a few pages.”

“Fine. But if...if it’s too long, I’m breaking you out.”

“Am I allowed to disagree?”

“Nope,” He replies.

“Alright…” I chuckle. He follows, and soon the three of us are walking down the road to the Blue Palace. It’s a sunny day, with happy clouds, and the fine days of spring finally upon us. Birds chirp overhead, and I breathe in the warm air and bask in the sunshine. 

The guard at the palace sees us coming. He doesn’t say a word as we walk by, right into the throne room.

“Queen Elisif…” I begin. She’s already on her throne, waiting. The crown I made still adorning her head.

“Dragonborn…” She addresses me. I drop to my knees, hearing Bishop and Cas do the same. “Good to see you in your right mind.”

“It’s...good to be back. I think you know why I’m here…” My gaze drops. “If...there’s anyway I can atone…”

“Well, by some sort of slip of the sword I still have yet to understand, Tullius has survived… He’ll be a bit sore, and I think more of his hair has greyed, but according to the Palace Healer, the blade just missed his lungs and heart. Odd, considering your daedra quite literally had the drop on him.”

“Well…”

“Even when you’re at your most evil, Rowan, you still somehow manage to keep things from falling apart,” Elisif says. My gaze snap back to her fair features. “Though, you did make an attempt on the life of the powerful general in Skyrim, as well as your Queen’s… so for that, I’m afraid you’ll need to face some sort of retribution.”

“I expected as much,” I pause. “Anything you name, I’ll follow quietly.”

“Really? Well, I think a month in Castle Dour should straighten you out. And I believe we have just the cell for you…”

“Oh?” I ask, allowing myself a small smile. “You’re most fair, my Queen…”

…

“The spiderwebs have not gotten any better…” I pick the silk off of me as I walk up to Bishop and Casavir. “Honestly!”

“You know, if you could just stroll out of jail, it’d be too easy,” Bishop says.

“Good point,”

“Our Queen is very… forgiving, isn’t she?” Casavir says. “It’s certainly worked in our favor this time…”

“I’m not complaining,” I say.

“Yeah, don’t jinx us.” Bishop snorts.

“Anyway… My lady, I believe this is where I depart… I have much to do and a lot to rebuild,” Casavir bows, his hand over his heart.

“Of course,” I laugh. “Sorry to inconvenience you,”

His face turns red.

“That’s not--I wasn’t…!” 

“Calm down, tin can, she’s joking.”

“Until we meet again, Sir Paladin,” I pat him on the arm, feeling his whole body stiffen like a board. 

“You always have my sword,” He replies. “Until the next adventure, Dragonborn.”

“Yeah. Take care of yourself, Sir Pala-tin.” Bishop crosses his arms, giving one of his smirks.

“Wow, I thought Rowan was the one who makes the jokes?” He retorts.

“See, what he doesn’t tell you is I made that one ten minutes ago,” I laugh.

“Of...course you did. Anyway, I’m off,”

He nods once more, and turns, heading out the open gates of Solitude and back into the world.

“Wow, I actually felt sentiment over that,” Bishop says. “Weird.”

“Look at you guys, getting along.”

“Yeah, it’s odd. I never expected us to actually be able to talk like that,” He snorts. “Disgusting.”

“Oh shut up. You guys are polar opposites--but he’s your friend,”

“Yeah. Suppose so.” Bishop kicks a rock, shouldering his bag. I adjust mine too, involuntarily. “So where to now, Ladyship?”

“There’s a bounty out on some bandits near Windhelm. Some rich merchant put it out. It’s bad for the shipping business--and thus bad for Windhelm. Could be pretty dangerous…”

“No need to tempt me more. High pay?”

“Well yeah, the guy’s pretty import-ant. Shipping is a huge business there.”

“That was terrible.”

“I know.”

“I love you,”

“I love you too, dumbass.”

“Dibs on the leader,” He says.

“You know, just this once...sure.” I scoff. “I’ll be a merciful God,”

“Think this adventure will keep us busy?”

“It’ll lead to another. And another… you know how it is.”

“I can’t wait.”

~Fin~


	59. ONESHOT: The Road Never Travelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the one-shots/side stories. I might be playing around with more CasavirxRowan depending on how well this is received. Just some angst I had an idea for. What's the time frame? Where in the story are they? Who knows! But it's fun to write and hopefully fun to read.
> 
> Enjoy!

When she fell, his breathing stopped. It was as if he forgot how as she tumbled from the spire.

Everything went silent as Casavir made his way towards where she fell. He barely registered that he had skewered a mage on his sword once the man got in his way. All he could hear was his heartbeat as his boots scrambled to get him to her--

When he saw the state she was in, rage ripped through him. It was a hollow feeling; he just wanted to help her.  

She lay in rubble, eyes closed and with a body covered in ash and dust. He knew Bishop saw her fall too--he’d be here any second.

“She’s here! Bishop, I found her!” Casavir called, lifting up a cross beam that weighed as much as a bear. The adrenaline ripping through him made it seem like nothing. He lifted her from the rubble, swallowing at the gash along her head and the burns across her arms. She had crossed her arms over her face to keep the burns away from her eyes, but she couldn’t maneuver mid air. She had probably hit her head hard…

“How bad is she?” Bishop asked, finally jumping over some of the rubble to reach them. “Oh no…”

“Bad.” Casavir swallowed. “How many are left?”

“Three or so--”

“Finish them off. I’ll stay with her.”

Casavir had never seen Bishop so conflicted. Every fibre in him wanted to stay with her, but he knew Casavir had more medical experience to help her. Bishop nodded; it meant “take care of her” in body language. He chewed on his lip as he jumped back into the fray, a renewed anger in his arrows. In any other circumstance, Casavir would pity the man or woman on the receiving end of his wrath. He didn’t now.

...

They were safe. Bishop was gone; finding medicinal poultices somewhere in Solitude. And with the fading light streaming through the stained glass window of the Winking Skeever, Casavir couldn’t help but get a bit of deja vu from this whole thing. But last time, he wasn’t ready to give everything he had to help the one in the bed.

“Cas--”

“You’re in Solitude, in the Winking Skeever--”

“Cas...I can’t see…!” Her vision was blurry. His guess was when she fell, something hit her in the back of the head.

“I know, Rowan. You hit your head. Keep calm--”

A hand darted out, looking to grab his, but instead her fingers only lamely grazed his leg. He grabbed her hand; her fingers were burning hot--like a dulled coal just starting to die off.

He felt his heart seize as it finally took in the situation.

 _Rowan isn’t invincible._ He sometimes forgot.

She can _die_. Someone or something could end her life.

She was _human_.

He took the rags from beside the bed and dunked them in water, placing them on the burns on her arms and collarbone. Damn the mage that did this. Casavir had already sent him to hell a bit over an hour ago, but it still made his heart rage.

She had been standing atop some wooden scaffolding, sending a volley of arrows when a stray fireball slammed into the side of the tower, sending a wave of flames that ate at her like a wildfire. To make matters worse, it broke apart the supports and sent her nearly twenty feet to the ground. Not to mention all the debris that buried her in rubble. There isn’t much you can do in that situation but let gravity decide your fate.

“Casavir.” She said, significantly more calm. She swallowed hard and squeezed his hand. “It--hurts-- a lot.”

“I know. Bishop’s getting something for the burns. You had a bad fall from the scaffolding at the fort… probably hit your head on something. You’ll be able to see in a day or two…”

He swallowed the “hopefully” that he nearly tacked on.

“I’m glad you’re here…” She said, barely above a sigh.

“Just go to sleep. You need to heal.”

“I know that…” She sighed, again, barely above a whisper. He felt his hand get squeezed tighter. “Thank you for staying with me…”

“Don’t thank me, my lady…”

He found himself staring at her face. It was a worn but beautiful face; she had survived so much. But with the events of the past few hours, he couldn’t help but wonder when she'll stop surviving. She was...imperfect, after all. While she was graceful, strong, witty, and intelligent, she was also too proud, with an eye blind to danger and a heart that took a leap before her brain knew.

A _human_.

Her quiet breath brought him back to reality, and he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. He had daydreamed for longer than he thought. Her brows had finally unknit and relaxed, and her jaw unclenched. With it, the tension in his chest lessened just a bit.

“Bishop...” Her voice called, half-planted in reality, and half in the world of dreams. His heart dropped. He wasn’t supposed to be jealous. He had vows, he wasn’t supposed to let anything distract him from his mission.

But Gods, he wished she had said his name instead.

It was cruel, to wish she wanted something she couldn’t have. But...say, a perfect world existed where she had said his name instead of Bishop’s existed, would he take her? Be what Bishop is to her? Share a bedroll with her, her small figure drawn to his chest, fingers wound in his dark hair, mouth breathing his name in a satisfied voice?

Yes. A thousand times yes, he would.

To wake up every morning with her next to him, ready for their next adventure. Her witty comments making even crypts seem humorous. He wanted her pressed under him, breathing his name softly as he made love to her.

He shouldn’t pull an injured woman into his fantasies. He shouldn’t be having these fantasies at all.

But damn it all… his heart hurt for something. And this time, it wasn’t for justice or peace. He wanted it to be him.

He knew he had been too late. He had made his vows, and she was with another man. And that’s how it was.

Casavir stepped aside as Bishop came in, murder still in his eyes. Only when he looked at Rowan did they soften, slightly. The ranger gently took her hand--the hand Casavir should have been the one holding-- and doused a rag in the healing salve he bought and dabbed it on the pink marks on her arms.

“Thanks, Cas. I got it from here.”

“Of course,” Casavir replied, standing.

He knew that meant “leave us alone.”

And as he stood, he couldn’t help but ask…

What if? What if he had rescinded his vows, and he had been strong enough to protect her at Pinemoon cave? To show her Bishop wasn’t the only one who could be a reliable partner? Would he be the name she called out for when she was scared?

It hurt. Why did he wonder this?

That was an easy answer. Because he was _human_.

He closed the door softly behind him, returning to his single room across the hall.


	60. One Shot(?)-- The one with Casavir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***THIS IS NOT A CONTINUATION OF THE MAIN STORY. This is re-imagining a completely fresh start.
> 
> Sorry, but I don't think I'm going to continue it.
> 
> At any rate, enjoy Fire and Ice reimagined. Now with 200% more Casavir! 
> 
> Edit: Is the grammar fixed? Will I ever learn to write like a professional? Who knows!

He could see the carnage from the stone path of the road. A limp hand peeks out from in the undergrowth, clad with gold rings and bracelets that seem slightly too expensive for the tawny and tattered body they were attached to. 

Casavir is no stranger to the carnage of a battlefield by any means. But regardless, seeing an extinguished life before him caused some distress. He walks off the path and draws his sword in case some enemies linger, but he knew he’d find no one. The forest has shed the silence of conflict and returned back to the peaceful tranquility of the world, with birds twittering from their concealment in the trees. The clouds overhead twist and turn; a pleasant omen of changing times.

Not ten feet from the first body is another, then another after that; forming a trail of felled bodies expertly ended by a steady and powerful hand. A slight chill rises up his spine. He’s used to the messy and disorderly fighting of vampires and the other bastards of the daedras; but it had been a long time since he had witnessed a true warrior. But where is the victor? All he could find are these bodies.

Finally he chances upon one that stood out from the rest. A nord man clad in a mix of dwarven and iron armor lay crumpled at his feet, skin tan but not sun-parched and ragged like the others. The bandits are clad in leather and furs, with not much else protecting them; certainly he is the one responsible? He must have defeated his foes and found his eternal slumber, Stendarr guide him--

No, that isn’t right. His sword is still in its sheath. A warrior would have died with his sword out.

The cloud that hid the sun drifts too far and reveals the light again to the forest, lighting the woods pleasantly with small sun-spots and rays that pierce the canopy. His eyes drift up to witness the change only to instead rest on a single Breton woman who sat against a tree with her eyes closed.

Is she dead? Casavir isn’t sure. There sure is a good amount of blood outside her body when it should have been in it.

“I mean no harm--” He calls, hoping to rile her. He sees no sign of life, so he edges closer, approaching the roots of the trees.

Her eyes flip open and Casavir is staring down the business end of an arrow in the next moment.

“Drop the sword,” She says, authority in her voice. He can’t help but lock eyes with the sticky red droplets trailing down her cheek.

“I cannot do that; my vows keep me from surrendering. But I do not mean you harm, my lady. I’m a Paladin only passing by--” 

“A Paladin? So you’re a healer?” She studies him for another second before letting her string slacken. His sword and armor have Stendarr’s crest on them, and only his devout followers are allowed to bear it. “Gods, you scared me…”

“I presumed you were dead,” He starts. “What happened?”

“My companion and I were jumped on the way to Solitude. He isn’t as lucky as I is,” She says, her eyes settling on the nord man in dwarven armor.

“I doubt luck has anything to do with it,” He says, holding his tongue from saying anything else. There were nearly fifteen bandits scattered around this woman, and none of them were felled by her companion.

“Regardless, I may be of need of your magic…” She says, her voice laboured. The shot of adrenaline she received when he scared her had worn off, and only then does he realize she’s bleeding heavily from a wound in her side. And her arm… and head….and right leg… Gods, she’s covered in wounds.

“Stendarr’s Mercy!” He exclaims, dropping to a knee immediately and tugging at her armor’s buckles. Her hands grope lamely at the leather ties to try and help him, but she’s giving out again; once her body realizes she is no longer in danger it began to unwind.

He gets the breastplate of the armor off, noting the strange material it’s made from. It’s nearly like Chaurus hide, or like an argonian’s scales, but much too large and pliable. Another moment and her faulds are on the ground too, and he has access to her wounds.

She’s asleep again. He should wake her, but with the wound on her head, it may do more harm than good. She’s on the brink of Arkay’s door.

He starts with her side, knitting the flesh together so she won’t lose as much blood. The wound is jagged and tore instead of cut most of the way; the sword that hit her was most likely quite dull. It probably feels like a burning coal glued to her ribs.

He pulls the arrow out of her leg, tying that one off with a bandage from his bag instead of healing it. Undoubtedly, she’d like to avoid more scarring… her body is coated in silver lines of every shape and size. Her body is slowly shedding them, but he has a suspicion she’s gaining more than her body can erase. 

As for her head, he closes that one with a flick of his finger tip, and with his job finished, he sits back and sigh with relief. That actually took a surprising amount of his magic.

So who is this woman?

A warrior; that much is apparent. She has blue eyes, shell-pink lips, a thin bretonic nose, and a very large scar from a sabrecat on her left cheek. She didn’t seem like any nobleman’s daughter or warrior princess. Just a villager who had taken up the sword then? Mayhap she is a starting merchant, and got lucky?

No, fifteen versus one isn’t lucky. That isn’t right. She’s powerful. A soldier? Wrong armor for that...

“What, wondering who I am?” She asks, summoning a sword to her aid and using it as a crutch to force herself to her feet.

“My lady, don’t force yourself--”

“And who are you?” She asks, ignoring his plea for her to rest.

“I am Casavir, a paladin from High Rock,” He says, standing so he might aid her. But she refuses. “And who, might I ask, are you?”

“Some people call me Rowan, but most people call me ‘a pain in the ass’,” She chuckles darkly, looking to the bodies she felled.

“Rowan the Dragonborn!?” He asks, so surprised he nearly stumbles on the roots at our feet.

“Suppose so,” She looks to him and his most likely astonished expression. “What, not what you expected?” She snorts.

“No…” He pauses for a second, scanning the bodies. “I suppose you’re exactly as I imagined you.”

“Thank you for your help, Paladin. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She shoulders her pack as if to leave, but Casavir isn’t about to let her slip away. He looks for words, and when he found none, he instead went for action; grabbing her hand as she went to leave and meeting her stare awkwardly until he could find the right thing to say.

_ Stay with her; your destiny is with the Dragonborn. _

The voice echoes in the hollow of his skull, bashing around in his brain until he couldn’t think. is that Stendarr, or his own thoughts? He isn’t even sure. The few times his deity had chosen to guide Casavir, it had never been so direct… but the buzzing from the nape of his neck urges him on.

“Let me accompany you to Solitude. Who knows what awaits on the road…” He breathes, at least semi-happy with how the words fumbled out of his mouth.

“I believe you were going to Markarth, Paladin. No need to go so far out of your way to escort me,” She pauses. “I am the Dragonborn, you know.” 

“Your leg hasn’t healed--”

“I can manage, Casavir.”

“My Lady, excuse my rudeness, but I believe you could use a healer,” He says lowly. “Do you know any of the medical arts?”

“I can heal a bit, thank you,” She says, slightly indignant. But it does seem like she’s getting the point. 

“Let me teach you. If you had enough time to settle against a tree, you would have had time to heal yourself before falling unconscious. It would be most useful to you,” He says. 

Why is he trying to force her to let him travel with her? He isn’t sure himself. 

“Casavir, I’ve had companion after companion fall and die on me during my reign as Dragonborn. I don’t need another in the body count this close to the last’s passing,”

“Who is your companion, may I ask?”

“Name is Frojak. I had travelled with him for nearly two months,” She replies with tired eyes. “But of course, after the first few weeks he found out I is the Dragonborn, and decided to sell me out,” She looks in the direction of the fallen bodies. “And you know how that ended.”

“...Indeed,” I reply, not bothering to follow her gaze into the brush. “Then do not think of me as a companion. I have simply switched my destination. We can part at Solitude if you wish,”

She thinks it over.

“If anything, I can help make camp and take watches,” He says, trying to sway her. But she just only looks exhausted to Casavir. “Be of some conversation.”

“That’s what they all say,” She snorts. “Do what you want, Paladin. I suppose you did heal me.”

“Thank you,” He says, stooping his neck in recognition of her graciousness. He can still feel his heart twinge. The Dragonborn, while strong, is suffering.

…

“We’re close to Karthisten, but it’s getting dark, my lady.” He says. Neither of them have horses; this walk to solitude probably gives him around two weeks or so with the woman next to him. He steals a glance over to her, studying her facial features. His eyes follow the slope of her jawline to her slender neck, following it to her cheeks tinged pink from the creeping cold of the mountains, and finally settling on that large sabre cat scar again. He forbids himself from saying anything, but he knows that one is different from the other wounds she’s sustained. Besides, she’s the dragonborn; a sabrecat couldn’t have harmed her. It is her oldest scar and probably from before she became an adventurer.

“Where do you suppose we should camp?” She asks without looking over. Her eyes catch the dying light, sparkling a pure blue that reminds Casavir of the icy sea up north. 

“We can camp by the roadside up ahead. There’s a mine there that we can duck into.”

“Kolskeggr Mine? I’d rather camp by the Lover’s stone,” She says. 

“You’re injured. We’d best stay on the path,” He says, straining his eyes to see up the road in the dim light. Sure enough, the smelter light comes into view, with the coal fire spiraling into the heavens. 

“If the Forsworn are going to attack anywhere, it’ll be the mine,” She breathes.

“I assure you, my sword between you and the wilds is more than enough,” He chuckles, looking to the hilt of his greatsword that clung to his back like a living thing. He could feel Stendarr’s blessing in the steel, warm even through his armor. 

“If you say so,” She replies, still not much emotion in her voice. Somewhere from the back of Casavir’s brain, he knows this isn’t who Rowan is.

They arrive at the mouth of the mine just in time, and they both enter the shelter of the mine’s main passageway. A soldier and three miners nod quietly at their appearance, glad they’re only passerbys and not bandits or marauders looking to steal the gold ore scattered about.

“Would either of you mind taking a watch?” The Reach soldier asks, tilting his iron helmet back and revealing his young face to the two of them. He seems barely older than a boy.

Casavir sees how Rowan goes to answer yes.

“I will,” He says, with less hesitation than his companion. She looks at him with a sideways glance, looking him over again for the first time since Falkreath, and stays quiet. But her quiet exhale is out of pleasant surprise, and he’ll take it.

The miners get a fire going quickly, showing how well they know the earth. When the smoke spirals up, it gets led outside by a vent they created using hollow reeds from the river.

It lets them enjoy the safety of the mine with the perks of a fire. And for Rowan, it means she has little problem rolling her bedroll out and burrowing herself into it. 

“What are you laughing at?” Rowan sticks her head out of the bedroll, looking at Casavir from across the fire. He had been trying to quietly eat, but his constant chuckling wouldn’t let him.

“Forgive me for my rudeness, but you look like a caterpillar, my lady.”

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping I become a butterfly by morning,” She says, a slight smirk on her face. And with that, she rolls over and settles in for the night. It doesn’t take long for her breath to even out and become shallow. He moves closer to her to let the other miners sit around the fire, and the proximity makes her breathing sound like a peaceful metronome. Casavir feels his eyes grow heavy and soon enough, he’s fast asleep too.

…

He feels defenseless without his armor on, but he would barely fit in the doorway if he still wore it. His watch is fairly uneventful. In the backlighting from the mine, it is particularly difficult to discern the world, and even then, he has a very limited view of the valley. He props himself up in the doorway, holding his sword by the hilt and elevating the blade in the doorway. When dawn broke, he could hear four of the ones behind him slowly begin to wake up. As for the fifth…

“It’s a beautiful morning…” Rowan says, and Casavir shifts his sword to the side so she can sit across from him, tangling their legs together. “Thanks for taking the watch.”

“As I says, I only wish to be of use…” He says, looking to her. “Let me change the bandage on your leg.” He pulls his bag to him, fishing out the clean linen wraps he had. Rowan looks like she is going to say something, but kept silent as Casavir cut away the old bandages and wraps the new ones. His hands felt hotter than normal as he slowly wound the bandages around her leg, tucking the excess through and tying the knot on the cloth, hands dragging down her thigh when he finishes.

When he looks up to her again, her face is as red as the morning sky.

So is his, in fairness.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t expect that… I mean…” He fumbles with his words. “Did-- sorry-- I just--”

“No I mean-- you probably-- just…” She stumbles too. “It’s… uh…” They held the silence for a few seconds before Rowan burst out laughing, keeping her voice down as to not wake the rest of the occupants of the mine. Casavir joins in after, covering his mouth to stifle himself.

“Well, at least that dispersed the awkwardness,”

“I’m so sorry-- I should have let you do it…!” He says, panic still in his voice. “I… have never… I suppose it’s different when we’re in the heat of battle…”

“I was out of bandages anyway,” She says. “So you haven’t travelled with a woman, have you?”

“I-- no. Not particularly.” He says. “I forgot my place. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine,” She says, watching Casavir’s eyes land on the wound again. It’s very high up her thigh. His face flushes red once again, and he looks in the distance to hide it. Rowan just rolls her eyes with a small smirk on her face.

…

They kept their distance while walking, preferring to take up nearly the whole width of the path. There has been little talking since the mine; something about the morning seems slightly off. 

“My lady…” He pauses. 

“You can call me Rowan,” she replies, but she’s doing the same thing as him. Both of them are wildly checking in every crevice they pass, searching for the glint of an arrowhead.

“I… that seems too casual for one such as you--”

“Casavir,” She snorts. “Call me Rowan.”

“As you wish,” He pauses. “Rowan, have you fought the forsworn?” 

“Not excessively, I suppose. When I lived in Markarth they kept their distance. I would occasionally see a few while gathering ingredients, but they were never hostile.”

“You’re an alchemist?”

“I dabble,” She replies. “You’re from High Rock, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he pauses. “As are you, correct?”

“Wayrest,”

“Really? Me as well!” 

They both paused, looking each other over.

“Wonder if we’ve met before,” She says, looking Casavir over again with a slight smirk.

“I feel like I would certainly remember our meeting,” Casavir says, eyes being dragged from the cliff face around them to settle on Rowan again. “Now then…”

“Yeah, I definitely feel like we’re being followed,” Rowan says. “How far are we?” 

“Nearing Dragon Bridge,” Casavir pauses. “My lady… can I propose a detour?”

“Call me Rowan; ‘my lady’ is much too formal for my blood,” She says. “Where to?”

“Pinemoon cave. Apparently there’s some vampires lurking about that require my attention,” He pulls a parchment from his bag, flipping it open. “I’d be honored to have your help… if you believe your wounds will allow you, of course--”

“I’m fine, Cas. And yeah, sure. Lead on.”

…

Pinemoon Cave faces the South, meaning no direct sunlight ever is given the chance to grace the cave. It makes it the perfect place for sun-fearers to dwell, and as such, the entrance seems heavily used when Casavir and Rowan finally found themselves standing in front. A pungent earth smell hit them both, mixing with the scent of iron that stuck in their lungs to suffocate them. The earth beneath them is particularly soggy, and Casavir couldn’t help but notice the dusty auburn stains on the grass.

“Think they have dogs?” She asks.

“Most definitely. But we’re downwind, so I doubt they know about us.”

“Laas!” She whispers to herself, and Casavir watches as her lapis eyes glow just a little bit lighter. “Yep, two at the entrance. Let me take care of them without drawing attention…”

“My lady--”

“Your armor is sturdy, but clanky, sir Paladin. Let’s keep the element of surprise for just a bit longer…”

“My-- Rowan, if I’m to call you by your birth name, it’s only fair you call me Casavir.”

“...Fair enough,” She says. “Be right back.”

“If I hear any struggle, I’m coming in after you,”

“Please do,” She chuckles, summoning a bow to her hands and nocking an arrow quietly. Casavir can only hear the distant cicadas as she creeps forward, being enveloped in the dark after a few steps inside. He knows she pauses just as she enters, letting her eyes adjust to the low light until she presses on again, but she’s on her own now.

Silence, for around a minute. Then she reappears, no arrow on her bow’s shelf. 

“They’re dead, but there’s a good amount of them inside. I can get the party started and squeeze in a few shots and you can follow me in.”

“That works. Be careful,” He says, drawing his sword and preparing himself for a fight. She disappears again, and less than twenty seconds later Casavir hears commotion from inside, followed by the crackling of fire. He runs in, reeling from the sudden light change, but soon he adjusts. It’s a large, single-room cave, with high ceilings and a mock church scene to the side, with shelves and living space to his immediate left. 

Rowan battles with a vampire, breaking apart the pale nord’s defence with two twin swords, and Casavir finds himself captivated by how she moves. He had never seen her in battle until now; her motions are fluid and she moves at her own pace, setting the battle to her terms and taking control with her experience at the helm. 

A warrior. Through and through.

But Casavir won’t let her take on the entire room; after all, this isn’t exactly his first fight. And vampire hunting in particular has always been his specialty. His silver-edged sword rips through the flesh of the fledglings who dare to stand against him in his pursuit of the vampire behind the pulpit with ease. He chases, and he feels his mind grow blank. He knows this. It’s all very familiar.

He reaches the master, and as typical of their kind, he tries to close the gap to keep Casavir from using his sword. But the left hook Casavir prepares for that keeps the vampire from succeeding. He staggers back, blinking, before raising his hand. Casavir sees magic well up in the vampire’s palm, and Casavir’s vision staggers. He swings blindly, knowing fairly well where the vampire is; when he hits something solid, he knows he’s won.

But from his left, just inside his peripheral vision, there’s a small room he didn’t see at first. And from that room he sees the shimmer of an unseen enemy slither out.

“Rowan!” Casavir roars above the sound of clanking steel, trying to get her attention. He sees the air shift next to where she stands and he switches his grip on his sword, racing towards her. 

And as the cloaking fades and the master vampire comes into view behind the Dragonborn, Casavir’s sword cleaves through him.

Rowan uses the commotion to run the vampire through with her sword, letting them fade and stepping back.

“Gods…” She wipes the sweat off her forehead. “Vampires are always more difficult to read.”

“Are you hurt?” He asks, stepping to her. A few scratches on her arms; nothing much. He takes her hand, pulling her arm close so he can stitch together the wounds. “Better?”

“Yeah…” She breathes, looking to him again. Her bright eyes meet with his, and for the first time since their meeting, she seems to fully give him her attention. As if, just in that moment, she has given Casavir just a little bit more of her trust. “Thanks. And thanks for saving me, too.”

“Of course,” He says, sheathing his sword and inspecting the master vampire. “He was hiding in a room in the back. They’re always looking to only protect themselves…”

“Bit disgusting, really.” Rowan says, swiping some potion ingredients from the shelves. “God there’s so many body parts…”

“Deplorable,” Casavir says.

“It’s like a casketeria.” She says, looking to Casavir for his reaction.

“Rowan--”

“Tough crowd,” She scoffs. She continues into the back room, coming back with a considerable amount of more gold, and a few objects in her hands.

“I’ll enchant these once we get to Solitude. Might protect us a little better,” She says. Casavir sees she’s talking about a few rings and necklaces, with a bracelet or two mixed in. Odd, considering some of the objects are even silver.

He’s pleased at the ‘us’ included in her words, though.

“You’re skilled at enchantment as well, Rowan?” He asks.

“Again, I dabble,”

“I believe you’re too humble, Dragonborn,” He says.

“Nah,” She says, the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips. “Shall we get out of here?”

“Preferably,” Casavir says, letting her step in front of him towards the entrance. That is, until he sees a flash of polished bone from the shadows of the front of the cave. 

He threads an arm in front of her and sweeps her behind him before the arrow even leaves the bowstring, and he deflects it just in time with his gauntlet. It bounces harmlessly into the cave wall instead of Rowan’s jugular.

“Who goes there!?” He roars into the shadows. He can’t see; the glare from the entrance masks their presence. 

He feels Rowan press herself into his back softly, her breathing comforting to him. No doubt she’s trying to recover some magic in the few seconds we have.

The three forsworn enter the cave. Two bowmen, one swordswoman. Casavir notes how the middle one carries a bow large enough to where even his armor may crack. He still seems quite young, though. And he must be quite cocky as it still rests on his back. Only the right archer has his weapon drawn; but it’s still intimidating. Casavir can see the purplish brown poison smeared on tip, and his nose crinkles at the sickly sweet smell it gives off.

“Nightshade mixed with canis root; be careful,” Rowan whispers, stepping next to Casavir with her own arrow drawn. “We’re not looking to fight!” She announces, but continues to threaten the other archer. 

Apparently Rowan’s words go through as the middle one whispers something to the other two, and they backstep into the portal of light that is midday. And in the next moment, they’re gone.

“That could have been much worse…” Casavir breathes.

“You’ve saved me again, Paladin,” She says, inhaling sharply. “That’s twice over I owe you.”

“I don’t plan on keeping score, Rowan,” He replies. “I’m sorry for pushing you so roughly.”

“Saved my life,” She scoffs. “Could have pushed me harder for not seeing that archer.”

“My armor may be clanky, my lady, but a shoddy bone arrow won’t even scratch it.” He says, looking to where the arrow hit. Sure enough, the surface is still flawless.

“That middle archer--the important looking one--had a bow that looked like it’d punch through that steel of yours, though,” Rowan says. “I’d hate to imagine what it’d do to my old armor.”

“Must be one of their warriors. He looked young.”

“I wonder why they left? They probably had better odds,”

“I just thank Stendarr for the miracles; I tend to avoid dwelling on why they happened.” Casavir says. “At any rate, we should get out of here…”

“Agreed,” She huffs, and together they exited the cave. Casavir squints as he let his eyes adjust back to the light of day, and he let out a sigh. They were nearly to Solitude.

“Just a bit farther, huh?” Rowan notices as well, but the emotion in her voice is unreadable. 

…

They reach the inn slightly later than expected. Both of them seemed to have found reasons to delay their reaching Solitude; and Casavir found his feet dragged more than normal. 

Now they sat at a table in the Winking Skeever, with tankards piled in front of them-- and none of them were Casavir’s. He prefers to only take a bottle of cider and sip it lightly, where as Rowan has taken to binge drinking. And instead of taking residence on the chair next to him, she instead sits on the tabletop, preferring to tell bad jokes to the sailors around her. 

“Well, neither of us are really in charge… but I’m definitely calling the shots…!” She says, and the men and women crowded around her roar with laughter as she took another cup from the bar maiden. Apparently, Casavir really is a tough crowd when it came to her jokes. Somehow within ten minutes of them walking in she’d already gathered a crowd. “Right Cas?”

“Cas?” He asks, looking up. “Forgive me-- I spaced out...”

“Your name’s too long. Cas it is!” She says, and Casavir saw as the tinge of young drunkenness began to edge into her face. 

“Well girlie, if you want anymore company…”

“No thanks,” She says, and Casavir watches her climb back down into her seat. “I already got a travelling companion,” She says, and Casavir’s eyes widen. An annoyed scoff came from his right. He felt a soft hand drag along his jaw, tugging his cheek softly until he is looking at Rowan. “You heard that, right? Besides, you still need to teach me healing.”

“Yes…” He says, feeling his entire face heat up. He tries his best to keep it concealed, but there’s no helping it.

“Don’t worry, my face would be red too if it isn’t for the alcohol,” She says, a genuine laugh echoing from her lips. And for the first time since their meeting, he sees Rowan fully smile. “But if keep it up, and I might actually just trust you.”

“I look forward to it,” He says meekly.

“You aren’t even gonna’ kiss the poor man, now that just innit fair!” One of the sailors crowed from his table. 

Rowan shouted something back, but Casavir isn’t really listening. But in the next moment he felt Rowan grab his chin again, and suddenly her soft lips were pressed against his cheek for just a fleeting second.

“That’ll have to do,” She says, and quietly sips her drink. 

It took hours for Casavir’s face to turn back to its normal shade.  
  
  



End file.
